


To Melt a Tiger's Heart

by Lemons-Eloise (orphan_account)



Series: Defrosting Russia [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Abandonment, Adolescent Sexuality, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Child Abandonment, Crushes, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, In Character, Internal Conflict, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Multi, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Yuri Plisetsky, Puberty, Romantic Friendship, Sexual Experimentation, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Teen Angst, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-15 07:51:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 26,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12316884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Lemons-Eloise
Summary: A WIP that I will try to update weekly.Yuri had never needed anyone, at least that's what he told himself. But that was before Victor and Yuuri decided to move to Russia after the Grand Prix Final. Yuri had never needed anyone, and he certainly didn't needthem.[Yuuri’s nickname for Yuri was chosen from a post on @purposeofmymind’s tumblr. Thanks so much for letting me use the nickname :) Check out their page, it is awesome!]http://purposeofmymind.tumblr.com/post/161789362868Post.





	1. Missing Out

_"Viktor Nikiforov is as good as dead."_

_He hadn't meant it… or had he? Maybe he'd meant that he wishes Victor were dead- no, that’s not it. Did he mean that Victor was dead to him, perhaps? That was more plausible. Victor Nikiforov was dead to Yuri Plisetsky. For leaving him in Russia, for breaking his promises, for loving someone else. And so he shall remain._

“Yurochka!”

Yakov’s sharp tone brings Yuri back into his body, his head immediately snapping up and his gaze falling away from where Victor and the pig linger at the corner of the ice. Scowling, Yuri glares at his coach. He kicks the ice aggressively with his toepick before skating forward, immediately launching himself into the combination jump that he was supposed to be practicing before he began spacing out. He curses himself for allowing Victor and Yuuri to be such a distraction to him- how is he supposed to beat them both on the road to the next Grand Prix Final if he can’t stop thinking about the past?

The first jump is perfect- he launches himself into the second one. It’s wobbly, but he lands it. The moment he kicks off into the third jump, knows that his balance is off. He breathes in sharply as he under-rotates, bracing himself as he crashes back down onto the ice. _Fuck_. Yuri presses his palms against the freezing floor below him, waiting for the the scolding from Yakov to begin. But, it doesn’t come. Instead, the voice that sounds is soft and docile, calm and collected.

“Are you okay, Pirozhki?”

Yuri raises his head and meets two wide, chocolate eyes protected by a thin layer of glass. His spectacles are tilted the slightest bit to the right side, his exhales spurting heavily from his parted lips. His hand is outstretched, an offer for Yuri to take. It takes Yuri a moment to realize that Yuuri must have skated over in a rush after seeing Yuri hit the ice. Yuri scowls; his fingers scrape against the ice as he balls his hands into fists on the cool surface.

“I’m _fine_ , Katsudon.” Yuri pushes himself back up into a standing position without Yuuri’s help; the Japanese man’s hand still dangles between them. “You don’t need to come rushing over here, you’re not my mo-” 

Yuri stops himself, the words catching in his throat and making a bile rise to the back of his tongue. There is no reason to project motherly attributes onto Yuuri- especially not ones that Yuri’s own mother never showed. It takes Yuri every ounce of willpower to pull himself out of his own spiraling thoughts.

“I’m fine,” he repeats, reaching down to wipe the tiny shards of ice from his knees as Yuuri retracts his hand. “Get off my back, would you?”

Yuuri’s face flickers with something like hurt for a moment, the edges of his mouth caving in, his smile disappearing. He nods forcibly, robotically. “I’m glad you’re not hurt, Pirozhki.”

The sound of his skates scraping the ice as he turns and glides away pierce Yuri’s chest, and he struggles to suck in another breath. His chest feels hollowed out and cold, shards of ice stabbing him from all angles. Then there is a warmth, and unfamiliar tingling, as he watches Yuuri skate playfully into Victor’s open and waiting arms. His new nickname is preferable to “Yurio”; it sounds almost _endearing_. Still, Yuri refuses to refer to Yuuri as anything other than “Pig” or “Katsudon” to his face; he can’t help but think this might be what prompted the older man to call him Pirozhki in the first place. 

He won’t admit, even to himself, that he wants nothing more than to go back in time and soothe the hurt expression right off Yuuri’s face. Grumbling to himself, Yuri skates to the other side of the rink. As Yakov begins to shout once more, he launches himself into another series of jumps. _This time, he will land them all, if only for nothing more than to prove that he can._

Yuri is in the locker room yanking off his skates when he hears them enter. He groans quietly, using a towel to wipe the sweat from his brow as he looks up. Victor isn’t sweating, he is _glistening_. He and Yuuri have their hands clasped together between them, faces pink and cheeks stretched as they finish laughing at something that must have been said before they’d walked in.

“Yura, come have dinner with us!” Victor chirps, releasing Yuuri’s hand to trot over to Yuri. Yuri gasps as Victor leans down enough to hug him from behind, swinging his body from side to side and cooing nonsense in his ear playfully. His body is warm and strong, his scent musky from a day of practicing.

Yuri swallows the uncharacteristic gasp quickly, letting it come back up as a growl. “Get off me, old man!” He yanks himself out of Victor’s grasp, scowling. “I’m not having dinner with you idiots.”

Victor pouts, eyes shining. “Well, why not? We miss you. You’ve hardly spent any time with us since we moved back!”

Yuri grits his teeth as he laces up his sneakers, tying them much too tight, but being too stubborn to unlace them and try again. He doesn’t speak until he is standing, the handle of his skating bag in his clenched fist. He shoves past a hopeful-looking Victor and glares at Yuuri, pausing when his hand is on the doorknob. Yuuri is wearing that stupid _hurt_ look on his face again, the one that makes Yuri want to hug him and punch him all at the same time. He speaks in Russian, knowing that Yuuri cannot fully understand his words.

“You should have stayed in Japan with your piggy. No one asked you to move back here after the Final.”

The walk to Yuri’s apartment is the same as it always is- short, cold, and uneventful. He trudges up the stairs on aching limbs, realizing that he was in such a rush to get away from Victor and Yuuri that he’d failed to bandage up his feet. He shoves his key into the lock and slams the door shut behind him, toeing off his shoes to reveal blood seeping through his white socks.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he mutters aloud.

He drops his skating bag onto the floor and ends up in the bathroom, seated on the counter. He raises one leg at a time, carefully and meticulously cleaning each cut, scrape, blister, and bruise before bandaging anything that needs it. When he is finished, he lets his legs dangle over the edge, watching his feet swarm in circular patterns, hovering over the tile floor. Six bruises, five blisters, and three cuts. Eight bandages, and half a tube of antiseptic cream. He’ll need to make a trip to the drug store soon.

Yuri doesn’t realize that he has neglected to go food shopping until he opens the refrigerator, groaning in disgust. The cabinets are just as bare, and he settles for making scrambled eggs and toast. At least he’d remembered to buy bread, eggs, and milk. He’d only been out of Lilia’s house and on his own for a couple of months- at the tender age of sixteen, he still couldn’t seem to grasp the concept of keeping house. Still, despite the occasional sparse dinners alone, he was glad to be on his own and away from her constant, watchful eye.

He could have gone back to his grandfather’s house, and trained at the rink in Moscow. He’d chosen to get an apartment on his own instead, so that he could be closer to the St. Petersburg rink. Being blocks away instead of all the way at Lilia’s house also meant having extra time to sleep in since he didn’t have to take the bus or train. He doesn’t regret his choice to stay training with Yakov, though he would kill for his grandfather’s pirozhki right about now.

His phone buzzes as he takes a bite of toast, and he fully expects it to be his grandfather calling to check up on him. Yuri frowns when he sees a text message pop up on the screen, from Victor, no less. There is a picture of two rice bowls, complete with chopsticks sticking out, and a plate of some breaded food. Next to the rice bowls are two slender hands, one darker than the other. A matching gold band sits on the ring finger of each. The text reads, “Yuuri made tempura; you’re missing out, Yura!”

Yuri glances down to his pathetic excuse for dinner, then back at the photo his phone. He takes a bite of his eggs before typing out a simple message in response; “I guess I am.”

He isn’t just referring to the meal.


	2. Silent Pleas

Yuri wakes up to more than just his usual soreness- it’s not just an ache in his muscles. He is in _pain_. It radiates from his knees, ankles, and feet. It isn’t his muscles at all, it’s his bones. He stands on wobbly legs, forcing himself into the bathroom to ready himself for practice. He takes a shower twice as hot as usual, as if the water will wash the obvious growing pains away.

Yuri has a breakfast reminiscent of last night’s dinner- this time, however, he cooks the eggs over easy. He throws the egg on top of his toast and squirts some ketchup on top. He is out of coffee, so he drinks a glass of milk instead. As he is about to place his dishes into the sink, his phone rings. Yuri’s mood immediately brightens when he sees his grandpa’s number pop up; he answers instantaneously.

“Dedushka, good morning.”

“Good morning, my Yurochka. Are you on your way to practice?” His grandfather sounds tired, and Yuri feels worry seeping into his mind.

“Yeah, I’m going now. Are you okay? You sound tired.”

His grandpa sighs quietly, chuckling. “I’m fine, Yurochka. It’s early and I’m old; of course I’m tired.”

His worry doesn’t dissipate at all at the feeble reassurance, and he sucks in a shallow breath. “You’re in good health, then? You’ve been feeling okay?”

Dedushka laughs again, humming softly. “Yurochka, don’t you worry about me. I’m feeling just fine.” He pauses for a moment before telling Yuri, “You should be going to practice now, hmm?”

Yuri nods, swallowing hard, before realizing that his grandfather can’t see the action. “Yes, I’m going to go now. I love you, Dedushka.”

“I love you, Yurochka. Make me proud.”

Yuri’s hand is shaking as he hangs up the phone, overwhelmed by the sudden feeling of guilt. He longs for his grandpa; he wishes he was able to take care of him, to make sure he is in good health. He sends money to him often, but he is overcome with the realization that it might not be enough. Who is there to cook for him, make sure he is well? Yuri balls his fists, pushing the thoughts from his mind. He leaves his breakfast dishes in the sink, unwashed, before leaving the apartment behind.

It’s just Yuri’s luck that he steps onto the street at the exact moment Victor and Yuuri are ambling down it. He groans, knowing it is useless to try to walk ahead of them as they raise their hands in a wave, walking quicker to meet up with him. Victor and Yuuri’s apartment is a block and a half past Yuri’s, and this is a frequent occurrence in the mornings. Today, however, Yuri wants nothing more than to walk alone.

“Good morning, Yura.” Victor greets him, throwing an arm lazily around Yuri’s shoulders. He pulls him to walk on the side that Yuuri isn’t occupying. “How did you sleep?”

“Good morning, Pirozhki,” Yuuri cuts in quietly, before Yuri has a chance to snap at Victor.

Yuri tries to pull away from Victor’s grip, but the taller man keeps a tight hold of Yuri’s shoulders. “I’m not in the mood, you idiots. Can’t you leave me be for once?”

A sense of seriousness washes over Victor; Yuri can feel it in his touch alone. What was a playful grasp turns into a concerned arm of comfort. “What’s wrong, Yura?”

When Victor takes on a serious tone like this, Yuri knows that there is only one way to shut him up- give him an answer. Luckily, he has a plausible one, and it’s even half the truth. “Nothing’s _wrong_ , blockhead. I’m growing; it hurts.”

Yuuri hums with sympathy as Victor squeezes Yuri’s shoulder. “You should take it easy if you’re in pain,” Victor advises him.

Yuri scoffs, finally able to pull from Victor’s grasp as the ice rink comes into sight. “Like hell,” he replies. “You just want a chance at beating me next season.”

Victor chuckles, and even Yuuri snickers quietly. “Don’t be so defensive, Yura. I care about your health. You won’t be skating at all if you hurt yourself.”

Yuri knows he is right, but he still shrugs in response. “I can take care of myself.”

Yuri makes the mistake of looking up at Victor at that moment, just in time to see his expression change into something resembling the hurt look that Yuuri often sports. “I know that, Yura. I know you can.”

His tone isn’t condescending, it’s just sad. Yuri sighs heavily as they reach the rink, quickening his pace so that he is a few strides ahead of the older men. Without another word, he pulls open the door and lets it slam shut behind him. He pulls his skates onto his abused feet in the locker room, and doesn’t say a single word to Yakov about the pain shooting through his bones.

By the time practice is over, Yuri feels like collapsing. He’d planned to go to the supermarket before heading home, but he isn’t sure he can even make it _home_ , at this point. He cringes as he sinks down onto the bench, a day’s worth of over-exertion crashing over him. He grunts as he pulls his skates off, his feet bleeding through their bandages, peppered with a few new marks from the day’s practice.

He rips off the old bandages, tossing them out in the trash can before setting to cleaning his feet and applying cream. Yuri is so consumed in the task that he hardly notices as a figure sits next to him, a quiet voice making him jump.

“That looks painful.”

Yuri glares up at Yuuri, scanning the locker room to find Victor. He isn’t there. Yuri grunts and mutters, “Where is your idiot boyfriend?”

Yuuri smiles softly as he pulls off his skates and socks, revealing wounds similar to Yuri’s own. “He’s talking to Yakov about something. I’m not sure what, though. I need a crash-course in Russian.”

Yuri rolls his eyes, going back to his feet as Yuuri begins to bandage his feet, as well. They sit in silence for a while, applying cream and bandages, occasionally grunting or wincing from the sting. When Yuri is finished and is pulling on a fresh pair of socks, Yuuri addresses him once more.

“Yuri?”

Hearing his proper name is almost shocking, and his head snaps up immediately. Chocolate eyes stare back at him, the reflection of the fluorescent lights above them flickering in Yuuri’s glasses. He is wearing an expression similar to the one that speaks _I’m hurt_ , but this time, it says more than that. It’s too much at once but not enough at the same time, and Yuri swallows hard. 

“What, Katsudon?”

Yuuri’s voice wavers unsteadily, a shaky exhale accompanying his words. “Why have you begun to hate me again?”

Yuri’s insides twist. If it were Victor, he would snap back immediately, probably saying something like _I never stopped hating you to begin with_. But this isn’t Victor, it’s Yuuri. Yuuri who is looking at him anxiously, expectantly, like a dog waiting to get kicked. Yuri grips the bench below him to steady himself, choosing his words carefully.

“I didn’t hate you then and I don’t hate you now. I just don’t need you around. _Either of you_. So please, stop trying to get involved when you aren’t wanted.”

Yuuri's eyes grow a bit wet, but he otherwise remains composed. He nods quickly, leaning down to pull his socks over his beaten feet. “Sorry for butting in, Pirozhki.”

He pulls his sneakers on and is clamoring out the locker room door in record time. As soon as the door shuts behind him, Yuri buries his face in his hands and lets out a frustrated groan. _Why can’t he stop pushing everyone away?_


	3. It All Comes To A Head

Yuri _does_ make it home, but he doesn't get to the supermarket. He orders Chinese takeout instead, taking a long, hot shower while he waits for the delivery. As he emerges from the steamy bathroom, he finds his phone blinking on his bed. Five missed calls and three text messages from Victor:

“Yura, answer the phone.”

“I know you're home.”

“Don't make me come over, remember that your Dedushka gave me a spare key.”

 _Oh, no_.

Yuri pulls on a pair of athletic shorts and slides a T-shirt over his head, creeping into the living area quietly. Sure enough, Victor is lounging on his couch, phone in hand as he munches on a spring roll. When the floorboards creak under Yuri's footsteps, Victor glances up with a grin. 

“Yura, your Chinese is here. I tipped the delivery boy for you, but I also took a spring roll.” He holds the roll up like a trophy, swinging it lightly before taking another bite. “Yakov would scream for a week if he knew your cupboard was bare and you've been having takeout, you know.”

Yuri groans, flopping next to Victor on the couch. He grabs his noodles and disposable chopsticks from the takeout bag on the counter, splitting the chopsticks apart and taking a bite before speaking to Victor.

“What do you want, old man?”

Victor sighs, eyes scouring over Yuri as he eats. “You said you didn't need anybody's help, that you can take care of yourself. It doesn't look like you're doing a very good job of it to me, though.”

Yuri scoffs, shaking his head. “And what the hell do _you_ know about taking care of yourself? Before you brought the pig here, you were an irresponsible wreck.”

Victor's eyes grow dark, a smirk forming on his lips. Yuri immediately regrets his words, realizing he has fallen right into Victor's trap. “That's the second reason I'm here,” he concedes sweetly. “I don't know what you said to Yuuri, but he's upset about it.”

Yuri groans out loud, placing his noodles on the coffee table. “I just told him that I want the two of you to leave me alone.” Glaring, Yuri dares to add, “evidently, you didn't get the memo.”

Victor shakes his head, the anger on his face being replaced with frustration. “I don't know why you've been acting like this since we got back. You know, I thought you learned something over the season. I thought you'd found a way to express your feelings, to talk to people, to-”

“There's nothing wrong with the way I talk to people!”

Victor's face contorts once more, his voice dropping an octave. “There _is_ , Yura. Yuuri cares for you. _I_ care for you. I thought we were done with this petty behavior. You weren't like this after the Final. You weren't cold to us like this!”

His Adam's apple bobs with the force of how hard he swallows, his eyes wild. His icy blues are dead set on Yuri, and he dares not look away. The younger Russian is trembling for all he's worth, struggling to manifest the urge to fall apart into anger instead. _Look at how angry Victor is; you need to be angry, too_.

“You shouldn't have came back here. Why didn't you go back to Japan with the pig? You shouldn't have fucking came back!”

Yuri's fist finds the couch cushions behind him, a strangled sound rising in his throat. Victor tries to speak, but whatever he says is static in Yuri's ears. White noise, an out of range radio signal.

“Get out, Victor. Go home,” Yuri manages, pointing a shaking finger towards the door.

“Yuri, please tell me wh-”

“Get _out_!”

Another violent punch to the couch, and Victor is standing. He shakes his head at the younger man, pulling on his shoes and stalking to the door. He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, voice barely audible from across the room.

“We'll be here when you're ready to talk to us, Yuri. Don't forget that.”

Yuri puts the remainder of his food in the refrigerator after Victor leaves. He locks and deadbolts the door before collapsing onto his bed and finally letting his emotions take over. How he longs for his cat, Potya, who is at home with Dedushka due to Yuri’s lease specifying no pets. How he longs for Dedushka himself, to talk him through these confusing, painful feelings. He longs for Victor and Yuuri to not give up, to not let him go just yet. At the same time, he longs to close himself back off, not to let them in. Yuri is desperately clinging to the last shreds of his composure; he's so close to breaking open, to making sense of these contradictions. 

They act as if nothing has happened the next day at practice. They do the same on the next day, and the next. Yuri's growing pains subside and his limbs feeling normal once more. He's gotten a bit taller, and his chest feels a bit broader. His body is changing, that much is certain.

Despite his physical pain ending, his emotional turmoil remains. Each time he sees Victor and Yuuri, a million feelings swirl around inside of him. He's sad, he's angry. Confused but certain. He is longing for them, but also wants to push them away. It's enough to make him ill.

Surprisingly, it isn't Victor that brings Yuri to his emotional breaking point. It isn't Yuuri, either. In fact, they aren't involved at all. Yuri isn't sure who to place the blame on, aside from himself, and perhaps, the fragile mind of a teenage boy.

He flubs a jump he could land in his sleep- the quadruple salchow. He hits the ice with a loud smack, shouting an obscenity and slamming his fists against the unforgiving cold as soon as he gets his bearings. But that isn't the worst of it- that isn't what pushes him over the edge.

“ _Yurochka_!” Yakov shouts from across the ice. “Watch your mouth, the children are here!”

Yakov is right, the younger skaters _are_ present. In that moment, however, Yuri's coach seems nothing but wrong. Standing on shaky legs, Yuri goes as far as to give his coach the middle finger, hearing Mila gasp audibly from where she is helping the eight to ten year olds with their singles. 

“Fuck off, Yakov!” Yuri growls angrily, turning and barreling towards the rink exit. He gets there without a word from his coach and fumbles with his skate guards, kicking the rink barrier twice before stalking into the locker room.

Yuri breaks before the door can even close behind him, fists and feet attacking the row of lockers in front of him. His anger dissolves rather quickly, and then the tears come. Breathing shallowly, Yuri hits the locker with his fist one final time before sliding to the ground and burying his face in his knees. He can feel his lungs inside him, but he can’t seem to breathe. Emptiness in his hollowed chest, he gasps to take a breath.

Yuri sobs onto his pant legs, everything inside of him caving in all at once. His chest splinters, his repressed emotions spilling out and leaking into his entire being. The tears keep coming, hard and fast, unable to be silenced. Yuri trembles, quaking with the sheer force of everything he's been trying to keep inside for the last few months.

“Puberty sucks, doesn't it?”

Yuri looks up, finding Yuuri shutting the locker room door behind him. The younger man instinctively buries his face back in his knees, trying to hide his obvious state.

“Get out, Katsudon.”

There is movement to his right, and Yuri tenses as a warmth begins to radiate next to him. “I won't.”

“I don't need your bullshit right now, Pi-”

Yuri isn't expecting the warmth to spread from its distant place next to him, but it does. He is suddenly enveloped in it, head jostled away from his knees and face pressed instead to the shoulder of Yuuri's shirt. He smells of deodorant and rain water, with a hint of mint. Yuri can't resist inhaling deeper, though he still consciously tries to wriggle from Yuuri's grasp. The Japanese man only holds him tighter. He's soft and comfortable, like falling into a warm bed after a long day. Yuri wants nothing more than to melt into him.

“I'm not going to get out; I'm not going to leave you alone.”

A strangled sound rises in Yuri's throat, the prelude of a suppressed sob. “Why can't you two just take a hint?” He barks, though his voice is shaking.

A warm hand runs over Yuri's upper back, and it's more comforting than he ever could have imagined. “We _can_ take a hint. That's why I'm here. You won't push me away out of fear.”

“I'm not _afraid_ of anything, Pig.”

Yuuri chuckles, pulling away from the embrace while still leaving his hands on Yuri's shoulders. Yuri keeps his eyes downcast, embarrassed by his tearstained face. “We don't have to talk about what's been going on, but will you please come have dinner with us tonight? Victor said you've been living off eggs and takeout.”

“I've been food shopping since then,” Yuri protests, shifting away and wiping his face on his sweatshirt sleeve.

Yuuri stares at him with hopeful eyes and tries again. “Please? I'll make katsudon.”

Yuri sighs, acting as if he's just agreeing to shut Yuuri up. “Fine. It better be good katsudon, Katsudon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments,guys <3  
> So far I have about 19 chapters planned for this? But it might end up being more :3


	4. Warmth and Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update because I was asked nicely to update soon, and damnit all if I'm not a sucker for nice comments lol.

Victor and Yuuri walk hand in hand, with Victor throwing a casual arm around Yuri's shoulders. There isn't much talking between the three of them on their short walk, until they reach the apartment. When Victor unlocks the door and swings it open, Yuri can't help but notice how different it looks. It's less sterile than it used to be- more welcoming. Homier.

“It looks different, yeah?” Victor sees right through his skeptical gaze, reading him like an open book.

Yuri nods placidly, humming in agreement as the three of them toe off their shoes in the entryway.

“Victor let me do a little redecorating,” Yuuri explains as he heads into the kitchen, setting right to work.

“Sure did,” Victor agrees with a grin. Victor gestures to the couch, where Makkachin is sleeping at one end. “Watch some TV or something. I'm going to have a quick shower.”

Yuri sits on the couch next to the dog, watching as she lifts her head with curiosity. Upon seeing Yuri, the poodle readjusts herself so that her head rests on Yuri's lap, a comforting pool of warmth. He buries his hand in her fur, petting her gently.

“Hi, Makkachin. How have you been, girl?”

The dog nuzzles into Yuri's hand, and Yuri can't help but smile. He leans his head back against the couch, relaxing his body. He'll turn the TV on in a moment; he just needs to rest his eyes for a few seconds...

_“Yurochka, you skated wonderfully today.”_

_Yuri smiled up at his grandpa, reaching between them to grasp the older man’s hand. “You really watched me the whole time? You think I was good?”_

_Dedushka’s smile was enough to make Yuri glow with pride, a smile nod of his head in response all the child needed. Dedushka reaches out with his free hand, ruffling his grandson’s hair affectionately. “You must keep skating, you have such a talent for it, my Yurochka.”_

“Yura… Yurochka?”

“Dedu-” Blinking, Yuri realizes that it isn’t his grandpa who is stroking his hair, but Victor. As soon as he comes to his senses and sees Victor’s calm face, Yuri jerks away from the older man’s touch. “What the hell, Victor?” He fumes, cheeks heating. He is aware that his sleepy state is his most vulnerable, and silently prays that he hadn’t mumbled anything embarrassing whilst waking up.

Victor drops his hand to his side, standing and tilting his head towards the kitchen. “Dinner is ready, Yura. Come and eat.”

Yuri nods shortly, stepping over Makkachin, who must have moved to the floor while Yuri slept. He follows Victor into the kitchen, where Yuuri is placing bowls of katsudon on the table. Yuri inhales deeply; it smells delicious. The table is small, meant for only four chairs. Yuuri sits facing Yuri, with Victor on the side of the table between them. 

“Looks delicious, love,” Victor murmurs, reaching over and giving his boyfriend’s hand a squeeze. The innocent action makes Yuri’s cheeks heat, but he isn’t sure exactly _why_.

“It’s not as good as my mother’s, but it should be edible,” Yuuri jokes, flashing Yuri a silly grin. “ _Itadakimasu_!” Victor and Yuri pick up their chopsticks and begin to eat, so Yuri does, too.

It doesn’t taste much different from the katsudon at Yu-topia in Yuri’s opinion. Yuri swallows his first bite, grinning. “It tastes good. I guess you’ve lived up to your name, Katsudon.”

Despite Yuri’s use of that nickname, Yuuri’s face brightens significantly at the compliment. “Really?”

Yuri nods shortly, realizing he may have been a bit _too_ kind, for Yuuri to get so excited. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all in an uproar, now…”

Yuri doesn’t miss the amused smile still painting Yuuri’s lips as he shoves another wad of rice into his mouth. He doesn’t dare look at Victor, knowing he must be holding a similar expression. They don’t talk much after that, choosing instead to eat in near silence.

After dinner has been eaten and the dishes placed into the dishwasher, Victor tries to get Yuri to stay and watch a movie with them. Yuri rolls his eyes with a shake of his head, scoffing, “I don’t need to see the two of you gross old men making out on the couch.”

Victor grins, not batting an eye. “Come on, we won’t go past first base since you’re here,” he croons, enticing a fake gagging noise from Yuri.

“You are so _gross_ , Victor,” Yuri grumbles, and the grin on Victor’s face only widens. 

“You’re making him blush, Vitya,” Yuuri cuts in, grinning just as wide.

“Ugh! I’m going home to sleep!” Yuri announces, grabbing his skating bag from the floor. “Thanks for dinner, have fun being gross together.”

“Bye, Yura! Text us when you get home so we know you’re safe!”

The street feels colder than usual, tonight. Yuri attributes it to it being dark, or perhaps from the contrast of how warm and welcoming Victor and Yuuri’s apartment had felt. He walks slowly, looking up at the darkened sky. Though his hands feel cold already, he pulls one out of his pocket in order to grab his phone, dialing his grandpa’s number.

“Hello?” His voice is worn and tired; a familiar worry creeps into Yuri’s mind.

“Dedushka, it’s me. How are you?”

“Yurochka!” His voice immediately perks up, a chuckle sounding deep in his chest. “I’m just fine; I trust that you are well?”

“Yeah, of course. Have you been eating well? How is Potya? If you ever need me to come home for the weekend to help you with anything, you know th-”

Dedushka cuts him off with a laugh, and Yuri can tell just by the sound of his voice that his grandfather is shaking his head in amusement. “I’ve been eating just fine, and little Potya is doing fine, too. You worry too much about an old man, Yurochka.”

Yuri inhales deeply, the brisk air settling in his lungs. “I miss you, Dedushka.”

“I miss you, my Yurochka. I will come and see you skate soon, how does that sound?”

Guilt swarms around in Yuri’s stomach, his breathing quickening as he reaches his apartment building. “No, no, I...I’ll come see you. You shouldn’t have to travel all this way. We can go to that rink near you, and I’ll show you everything I’ve been working on for next season.”

Dedushka chuckles, ending the laugh with a deep sigh. “You must focus on your skating, Yurochka. Don’t you go taking time off to come here. I am perfectly fine with travelling to you, and that’s what I will do. The neighbor will care for Potya while I am away, and I will come and see you skate again. I want to see Vitya and Yakov too, yes?”

Yuri breathes a sigh of relief as he climbs the stairs to his floor. “Yes, Dedushka. I-if you’re really sure you can make the trip.”

“Of course I’m sure!”

Yuri pauses with his key in his hand, hovering close to the lock on his door. “I’m heading to bed soon, Dedushka. Sleep well, okay?”

As Yuri shoves the key into the lock, his grandpa murmurs, “Goodnight, Yurochka. I love you.”

“I love you.”

The line goes dead in his ear as he ambles into his apartment, realizing that it isn’t much warmer than the world outside. Not nearly as warm as Victor and Yuuri’s had been. Pushing the thought from his head, Yuri remembers to text Yuuri a simple, “Tell your overprotective boyfriend I got home fine.”

It only takes a few moments for Yuri to receive a reply- “Will do :) Sleep well, Pirozhki.”

He can’t explain the empty feeling he gets while reading the words on the screen.


	5. Rain Water and Mint

_Yuuri moves his lips over Victor’s, planting careful kisses on the Russian’s pink lips. Victor smiles into the kiss, moving his hands to Yuuri’s waist in order to flip them, and in turn, dominate the kiss. Yuri can hear their breathing- soft and shallow, but quickening rapidly as Victor’s hands slide up Yuuri’s shirt. Yuri watches as Victor flicks his tongue out, Yuuri gladly taking the organ into his mouth. Yuri bites back a moan as Yuuri’s hands ghost Victor’s abdomen, moving lower and slipping under his toned-_

Yuri jolts up in his bed, rapidly tapping the screen of his cell phone to silence his alarm. He is heated and sweaty as if he just ran a marathon, though he had only been sleeping. There is an ache between his legs that is still unfamiliar to him, though he has felt it a few times. Cautiously, he lifts the waistband of his sleeping pants to look underneath. Sure enough, he is swollen and stiff.

Yuri bites his lip, glancing at the time on his phone. He _does_ have some time before practice, so he slips his hand beneath his waistband. He moans as he grips himself, his fingers providing the friction that his body is craving. He arches into his hand shamelessly, feeling a heat pooling in his groin. It’s satisfying, gratifying; his body needs _more_.

He is still learning the power of his own touch- he is sometimes too soft or too rough with himself. He'll move too slowly or too quickly. Today, though, he doesn't mind a quickened pace. He shuts his eyes, remembering his dream as he pumps his cock, now slick with pre come. Without realizing that his mind is drifting, he begins to imagine Yuuri stroking Victor’s cock like this, or the other way around. The sounds they would make, what they _look like_. 

Yuri has seen Victor’s dick; they have changed in the locker room together many times. But, he has never seen it _hard_. Throbbing with want, leaking pre come all over Yuuri’s fist. Moaning unchastely as he cants his hips up, fucking into Yuuri’s hand. Head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut. His body stiffens, he throws his hand over his mouth to stifle the sound and hot, sticky come begins to-

“Ah, ah!” Yuri fails to silence his own pleasure, spilling onto his own hand as his body contracts. He tightens and releases again and again, gasping and moaning until he is fully spent. He is still panting, trying to suck in a proper breath when his phone rings. Grumbling and not bothering to check the caller ID, Yuri uses his clean hand to answer the call. “Hello?”

“Yura, where are you! We’re waiting outside to walk to practice together.” _Victor_.

Yuri’s cheeks heat, as if Victor could possibly know what he was just doing. “I need to rinse off in the shower real quick, I’ll be right down!” He ends the call quickly, jumping out of bed and wiping his hand with a tissue. The shower he takes is ice cold.

“Did you oversleep?” Victor asks as Yuri steps onto the street, skating bag in tow.

“Yeah,” he lies, shrugging away from the arm Victor tries to wrap around his shoulders. He doesn’t dare look either of them in the eye.

“Are you feeling okay, Pirozhki?”

“I’m _fine_ , Katsudon. Tired. Quit yapping, would you?” Yuri quickens his pace, and the older men do, as well.

“ _Teenagers_ ,” Victor groans. “So moody.”

“Maybe you’re just _annoying_ ,” Yuri snaps as the rink comes into view.

Victor chuckles, and Yuuri stifles a laugh. ‘Maybe we are,” Yuuri agrees.

By the time practice ends for the day, Yuri feels like his legs have been run over by a car. His bones ache and spasm, sharp pains shooting up his legs. He rubs his calves in between tending to the wounds on his feet, moaning softly.

“Are you in pain again?” 

Yuuri sits down next to him, going as far as to reach out and push Yuri's hands away so that he can see the calves for himself. Yuri is in too much pain to resist, so he nods. “Yeah, it hurts.”

Yuuri reaches down and runs his hand over Yuri's left calf, frowning. “They're a little swollen. You really should take it easy, Yuri. You could stunt your growth or injure yourself.”

Yuri groans, shrugging away from Yuuri and going back to bandaging his feet. “I'm fine, Katsudon.”

It is then that Victor enters the locker room, plopping down next to Yuuri on the bench. “What's going on, hmm?”

Yuri glances at Yuuri nervously, waiting for him to tell Victor that he is having growing pains again. He smiles, instead, reaching out and ruffling Yuri's hair. “Nothing, Vitya. I was just in here bonding with our joyous, cheerful little Pirozhki.”

Yuri releases the breath he's been holding in, managing a small smile back at Yuuri. His heart swells a bit at the sudden realization; Yuuri would keep this between them. He could trust Yuuri not to tell Victor everything. Yuri has never known anyone that he could share secrets with; it is strange feeling. When Victor leans down to unlace his skates, Yuri mouths “thank you” to Yuuri. The older man simply smiles in return.

“Vitya, we should stop at that pizza place on the way home for dinner.”

Victor gasps loudly, keeping his voice low. “You'd better not let Yakov here you say that!”

Yuuri suppresses a laugh, headbutting Victor playfully. “Come on, it's just one night.”

Victor shrugs, grinning in Yuri’s direction. “Only if Yura comes with us,” he reasons.

Yuri groans, ready to object, when Yuuri’s voice sounds. It’s soft and unsure, his eyes meeting Yuri’s with nothing but kindness. “Please?”

Yuri _wants_ to say no, but finds himself both indebted to Yuuri and somewhat charmed by his pathetic pout. “ _Fine_ ,” Yuri huffs, “let’s go get pizza.”

The pizza place is quaint and familiar; Yuri’s grandpa would take him here after practice when he came to stay the weekend and watch Yuri’s practices. He inhales deeply as he and Yuuri sit down at a table, Victor at the counter ordering a pie. “I haven’t been here in forever,” he says conversationally.

Yuuri stares at him intently, nodding as his eyes scan the restaurant. “Oh yeah? Did you come here often before?”

Yuri scoffs, laughing. “That sounds like a terrible pickup line.”

Yuuri breaks out into a fit of laughter, just as Victor begins walking back over to the table. He pokes Yuri in the side playfully, leaning in close enough that Yuri can smell his cologne, sprayed in the locker room before they left the rink. “You come here often?” Yuuri jokes before pulling away.

Yuri rolls his eyes and clears his throat, trying to pass it off as a grunt. It’s all he can do to keep himself from leaning in, from inhaling more of Yuuri’s scent. When Victor slides into the chair opposite Yuri and wraps an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders, Yuri turns away wordlessly. He can hear the static sounds of Victor and Yuuri speaking, drowned out by the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. It’s throbbing, rocking inside his chest. _What is this feeling?_

A kind hand on Yuri’s shoulder makes him jump. He swallows hard, jerking away from the touch to find his companions staring at him with concerned expressions, Victor’s hand still hovering above Yuri’s body. He opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.

“Are you alright, Yuri?” Yuuri whispers, leaning in closer again.

His cologne is overpowering in the best way; rain water and mint is something that Yuri has never craved before, but now, he wants to drown in it. Yuri struggles to collect himself, backing away from Yuuri and breathing heavily through his mouth with a nod. “I’m fine,” he assures them, unconvincing.

“Yura,” Victor begins, but Yuuri shakes his head and stops him from speaking.

“If you want to talk about it, you can, Yuri,” he affirms, “but we aren’t going to bother you about it.”

Yuri relaxes at Yuuri’s words, glad for the Japanese man’s understanding. Victor deflates at Yuuri’s words as well, in a less positive manner. He does nod, though, a hand drifting to rest on Yuuri’s thigh under the table. “We’re glad that you came out with us, Yura.” As Yuri stares at them both, he realizes something:

He has gotten too close, already.


	6. Broken Fascade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the sweet comments, they are my oxygen <3

It hurts, but he can get through it.

It’s something Yuri tells himself continuously, and has been telling himself for some time. When his mother abandoned him, he developed this mantra. When his grandpa was working much too hard and struggling to care for Yuri, he used it again. When he first left his grandpa to train with Yakov, when he heard that Victor had left him and gone to Japan, and when he heard that he and Yuuri were moving to Russia after the Final.

He falls back on this mantra again as he skates the next morning, shooting pain rising in his legs with each movement he makes. It’s enough to make tears prick in his eyes, but he fights through it. He follows Yakov’s directions, running through his routine without marking anything. It hurts, but he can get through it.

And he does, until his quadruple loop. As soon as he launches himself into the air, he can feel his calves locking up and betraying him. He prays that his feet will hold him up as he lands, but instead, his legs feel like jelly. His ankle twists as he skims the ice, the sharp pain drowning out the constant shooting throb in his legs. He struggles to steady his breathing and stand through the pain, pretending that nothing is wrong.

He barely manages to shout, “I’m going to the toilet!” to Yakov as he glides off the ice, desperately begging his legs to hold him up. His legs ache, his arms ache. Everything feels like a stabbing pain as Yuri finds himself blissfully alone in the hallway, hobbling into the bathroom and leaning against the tile wall. “Fuck…” he mutters to no one.

He removes both his skates, tossing them carelessly onto the floor as he, himself, sinks down to it. He stares at his swollen ankle, already painfully red and growing. He winces as his fingers brush it, tears of frustration brimming in his eyes. His entire body is on fire in the worst way, he feels like he is melting from the inside, as if someone is lighting him up from his core.

Yuri barely has time to tug the hem of his leggings back down with a painful grunt as the bathroom door swings open. Victor steps inside, frowning when he sees Yuri on the floor. “Did you hurt yourself?”

Yuri shakes his head indignantly, trying to push himself up off the floor. He fails miserably, leaning back against the wall with a frustrated slew of obscenities that Victor doesn’t bat an eye at. Clicking his tongue, Victor kneels in front of Yuri, eyes raking over him and trying to decipher exactly where he is hurt.

Yuri groans, determined to escape Victor’s scrutinizing gaze as soon as possible. “My ankle,” he croaks, gesturing down at it.

Victor nods, sighing. He glances up at the bathroom counter, tilting his head toward it. “I’m going to need you up on the counter so I can see it.”

Yuri pales, shaking his head. “I can’t even stand up. It fucking hurts.”

Victor looks at him accusingly, running his fingers through his silver hair. “It isn’t just your ankle, then,” he concludes.

Before Yuri has a chance to answer, there are strong hands lifting him from under the arms. He doesn’t even have the energy to protest, his limbs splintering with pain as Victor sets him on the counter, helping him to lean back against the mirror. As Victor pulls away, the scent of sandalwood and salt fills Yuri’s nose. Musky and solid, not soft and sweet like the smell of Yuuri’s cologne. Victor reaches for the ankle that Yuri had gestured to, carefully rolling up his leggings and ignoring Yuri’s pained hiss.

“Yuri, my god.” Victor runs his fingers through his hair again, shaking his head. When he looks up, his icy blues look wet, whether from frustration or anger. “This is why you can’t push yourself. You reckless fool…”

“It’s just a sprain,” Yuri grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. He feels a lump in his throat, a prickling behind his eyes.

Victor laughs bitterly, nodding. “A sprain that’s going to need a week to heal. Was it worth it?”

“Don’t!” Anger boils inside Yuri, realizing what Victor is implying. “Don’t tell Yakov!”

Victor slams his hand down on the counter, making Yuri jump. “If you skate on that, Yuri, you’ll injure yourself even worse and be out for the season!”

The painful realization of Victor’s words washes over him, and he knows the older man is right. The tears that have been brimming in his eyes begin to dissipate, falling onto his lap in sporadic dots. “I know,” he admits, rubbing his face with the back of his hand.

“Yura,” Victor sighs heavily, placing a hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “We don’t have to tell him about the growing pains, but you need to rest the ankle.”

Yuri nods, sniffling as the last of his tears fall. He feels weak, vulnerable. He has given into his instincts too much lately, and gotten too close to both Victor and Yuuri. He doesn’t like being in a compromised position- it’s never been okay for him to let anyone too close. Yuri forces himself to shift away from Victor’s warm touch, though he wants nothing more than to fall into it. He exhales shakily, hands gripping the edge of the counter. 

“I’m going to ice it for a bit, and then go home.”

Victor shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “You can’t walk home like this.”

Yuri rolls his eyes, letting Victor scoop him under the arms again to place him back on his feet. “I don’t really have any other options.”

Victor picks up his skates for him, wrapping his arm around Yuri’s shoulders as he leads the younger from the restroom. Yuri tries not to think about how nice Victor’s arm feels, holding him in place. He tries not to lean into him, tries not to let himself think that Victor’s strong grip wouldn’t falter, even if he tried to pull away.

“Yura?”

“Huh?” Victor had been speaking to him, evidently. Lost in his thoughts, Yuri pulls himself back into reality. They are in the hallway, now, steps away from the locker room.

“I said, ice your foot in the locker room and I’ll tell Yakov about your ankle. You and I can take a taxi cab to your apartment and I’ll get you settled for the next few days, okay?” There is nothing but kindness and worry in Victor’s eyes when they lock with Yuri’s, and the younger man falters.

“You don’t have to do any of that. I’ll be _fine_ , old man,” he spits out, feeling his cheeks heat.

Victor chuckles, shaking his head. “I know I don’t _have_ to, and I wasn’t asking your opinion on the matter. That’s what we’re doing, and you’re going to like it.”

Fuming, Yuri lets out a frustrated huff. “And what about you piglet, hmm? You can’t just leave him here.”

Victor grins cynically, rolling his eyes. “He’s a big boy, Yura. I’m sure he can handle an afternoon with Yakov just fine.”

Yuri grumbles, limping to the locker room door and pushing it open with his fist. “Whatever. You two are so annoying.”

Victor only smiles, chirping as he walks away, “Ice that ankle, Yura! I’ll be back quicker than you can start missing me!”

“Yeah, right. Like I’d ever start missing you,” Yuri contradicts, though Victor is already out of earshot. He’s almost glad Victor hadn’t heard his words; he is sure that he hadn’t actually meant them.


	7. Agape

“So, your place or mine?” Victor asks with a wink as they climb into the taxi cab.

Yuri rolls his eyes, figuring that he’d rather be at Victor and Yuuri’s. At least then, he can leave whenever he likes instead of Victor overstaying his welcome at Yuri’s apartment. Not to mention, he has a sprained ankle. He should let himself indulge in Yuuri’s cooking just this _once_.

“Yours. You better have good food.”

Victor flashes him a smile before directing the cab driver and leaning back in his seat. “I’ll have Yuuri make something you’ll love.”

The cab ride is short; four and a half blocks is a ridiculous excuse for a taxi, in Yuri’s opinion, even with his sore ankle. Victor pays the driver when they arrive, going as far as to offer his hands to Yuri to help him from the cab. Yuri begrudgingly takes them, pretending to be much more disgusted by the touch than he actually is. When he is standing, he pulls his hands from Victor’s as quickly as he can, hobbling up the four concrete stairs leading to the building's entrance.

Unlike Yuri’s own apartment building, this one thankfully has an elevator. They ride up to Victor and Yuuri’s floor in silence, Victor keeping the slow pace Yuri sets in the hallway. When they reach his door, Victor unlocks the door and guides Yuri inside by a gentle hand on the shoulder. When Yuri bends down to take off his sneakers, he is pulled back up by that same hand.

He glances over to see Victor kneeling down, shaking his head. “I’ve got it,” he murmurs as he begins unlacing Yuri’s shoes.

Yuri’s face heats all the way up to his ears, the sight of Victor knelt in front of him making his chest ache. He can’t explain why such a simple act is making him want to crawl beneath the floorboards, but his heart rate has increased threefold by the time Victor stands again, toeing off his own shoes.

When Victor glances at Yuri, his face momentarily contorts before he reaches out a hand, pressing it to Yuri’s flushed forehead. “Are you alright? You’re warm and flushed.”

“I’m fine!” Yuri asserts, shrinking away from Victor’s touch. He exhales shakily, making his way over to the couch. Makkachin is asleep in her dog bed nearby, and he counts to five repeatedly while staring at the fluffy poodle until he can breathe normally again.

Victor doesn’t push any further as he enters the room, tossing the remote at Yuri. “Put something on, I’m going to get some more ice for that ankle.”

Yuri nods mutely, flicking on the TV and leaving on whatever channel Victor and Yuuri had been watching last. He rolls his eyes at the Japanese subtitles on the screen as Victor emerges from the kitchen with an ice pack. He plops onto the opposite end of the couch as Yuri, placing a throw pillow on his lap. He pats the fabric gently before gesturing in a “come hither” motion. When Yuri simply stares at him with confusion, he pats the pillow again.

“Lie down and prop your foot up here.”

Yuri rolls his eyes, but turns his body to lie down nonetheless. One leg swung over the side of the couch, he props the other on the pillow. Victor immediately places the ice pack at his ankle, and Yuri hisses from the sudden, burning chill. Victor smiles sympathetically, fingers brushing Yuri’s calf as a sign of comfort. It isn’t long before the drawl of the TV and the methodical rhythm of Victor’s touch make Yuri’s eyes droop, and he loses all consciousness.

_“Don’t cry, Yuri. Mama will be back soon, I promise.”_

_The young, blonde woman swiped Yuri’s hair back from his forehead, leaving a tender kiss in its wake. Yuri’s cheeks were tear-stained, with fresh tears welling up in his eyes. “Mama…” he whimpered._

_She was gone, just as quickly as she’d came. Yuri crawled back into his bed at Dedushka’s house, curling up in a ball. He cried and cried, until the tears no longer came. He cried until his throat ached, his head pounded. He cried until he couldn’t even stand to sob breathy heaves, until his nose twitched at a familiar smell drifting into his room from the hall._

_Pirozhki. Dedushka was making pirozhki._

Yuri jolts out of sleep, sweat dripping from his forehead. He takes in a deep breath, realizing that he isn’t at his Dedushka’s. His mother isn’t here, he is not five years old anymore. She has been gone for eleven years, and his grandpa isn’t making any...pirozhki. Yuri sniffs the air, the scent of pirozhki still thick in it.

He sits up on the couch, finding both Makkachin and Victor gone. The TV has been shut off, and his foot is now propped up on two throw pillows instead of one and Victor’s lap. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Yuri gets into an upright position. It hurts when he stands, putting pressure on his foot making him hiss with pain. Yuri limps from the living area into the kitchen, frozen in the doorway as his eyes fall on Victor and Yuuri.

Yuuri is stirring something in a pot on the stove, with Victor’s body pressed against him from behind. Victor’s arms are wrapped around Yuuri’s waist, his chin resting comfortably on the shorter man’s shoulder. Yuri’s breath halts as Victor presses a kiss to Yuuri’s cheek. Time slows as Yuuri places his free hand over the one Victor has resting on his hip, as if to keep it there. Yuri realizes he is intruding on a private moment when he hears the quiet whisper of words,

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Yuri attempts to flee the scene, turning on his heel. He is stopped by Victor’s voice, however, only one step closer to the doorway. “Yuri, you’re awake.”

Yuri is forced to turn back to the couple, just in time to see Victor loosening his hold on Yuuri, and a blush spread over Yuuri’s cheeks. He clears his throat quietly, nodding. “Yeah,” he mutters.

“Sorry,” Yuuri apologizes softly. “We didn’t know you were there.” He waits a few beats before adding, “I’m making katsudon pirozhki for dinner.”

Yuri inhales deeply, unable to stop a small smile from stretching his lips. “Yeah, I could smell the buns when I woke up.”

Yuuri smiles, turning back to the stove. Victor presses a kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek before turning to Yuri and gesturing towards the table. “Go sit down, prop your ankle up with a pillow on the extra chair, alright? Dinner will be ready soon.”

Yuuri’s katsudon pirozhki are almost as good as Dedushka’s. The meal is pleasant, and Yuri even makes some conversation. He lets himself feel at ease, if only for one meal. It’s warm and happy, at Victor and Yuuri’s apartment. But after dinner, Yuri still forces himself to leave. Despite numerous offers for him to stay over, or even the ridiculous one for Victor to give him a piggyback ride home, Yuri insists on leaving alone.

Out in the chilly air, Yuri dials his Dedushka. It takes a few rings for him to pick up, but he does. “Hello?”

“Hello, Dedushka. How are you?”

“My Yurochka!” Dedushka booms. “I’m doing well. How are you? Have you been making your old Dedushka proud?”

Yuri swallows hard, forcing himself to sound cheerful. “I’m fine, Dedushka. I hope I am making you proud.”

There are a few beats of strange silence before Dedushka answer, his voice firm. “You are, because you _always_ make me proud, my Yurochka.”

Yuri’s heart swells, the chilly air suddenly growing a bit warmer. No matter what, he has his Dedushka. His Dedushka who loves him, who raised him, who has never let him down. “I love you, Dedushka.”

“I love you, Yurochka.”


	8. Aches

His body betrays him once more the very next chance it gets. Though Yuri can’t skate for the week, he still goes to the rink. He works on his stretches, looks at playbacks of his routine. Even if he can’t physically skate, he can still make himself improve, do _something_ productive.

He is on a mat stretching when it happens, leaning forward on his elbows in a full split. Victor and Yuuri are across the room, leaning over the rink barrier. Victor is wiping his face with a towel, swinging it over his shoulder as he finishes. Yuuri chugs from his water bottle, Adam’s apple bobbing as he hydrates.

Yuri’s eyes subconsciously drift lower, to where Victor’s shirt rides up the slightest bit, revealing a hint of skin at his hip. Yuuri’s leggings are tight on him, hugging his frame. His ass looks firm and welcoming, and Yuri finds his thoughts drifting to how he and Victor might look _without_ their clothes on, at home… maybe even in their bedroom together.

Blood rushing between his legs and heat rising on his cheeks, Yuri hurries to pull out of his split and snap his legs shut. Breath tightening, Yuri begs his body to stop reacting to his dirty thoughts. He grabs his sweatshirt from the ground in a rush, standing and barrelling through the rink, towards the hallway. As he darts past Victor and Yuuri, Victor calls out, 

“Yura, are you alright?”

Yuri doesn’t answer, only moving faster. He ends up in the men's room, sweatshirt tossed onto the counter and palms flat on the smooth surface. He tries to regulate his breathing, to somehow control where his blow flows to. He turns on the tap, splashing his face with ice cold water in hopes that it will make the billowing erection in his leggings _go away_.

Yuri isn’t prepared when the door swings open, his erection still flagging blatantly in his pants, hand reaching out for his sweatshirt to shield himself with. His face grows hotter than it’s ever been as Yuuri freezes in the doorway, his eyes raking over Yuri until they land on the very obvious bulge in his pants. When he brings his eyes back up to meet Yuri’s, his expression is relaxed.

“All this fuss over that? I thought you were sick or something,” he sighs.

Yuri fumes, finally getting mind to grab his sweatshirt and use it to cover his crotch. “Stop _looking_ ,” he hisses, wishing he could sink through the tiled floors and straight to the depths of hell.

Yuuri chuckles quietly, shaking his head. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It happens randomly, especially at your age. Just take care of it; cold water will only get you so far.”

 _But it wasn’t random, it was because he was looking at Yuuri’s body. Imagining what Victor might like to do with it in bed_. Yuri feels his face heat even further as he racks his brain to tries and figure out exactly where this calm and casual Yuuri came from, the Yuuri that advises someone to jerk off in the ice rink bathroom as if it’s a perfectly normal occurrence. “Are you _nuts_?” Yuri barks.

Yuuri shakes his head, hand fluttering in the air like he hasn’t a care in the world. “I’m just trying to help. Would you have rathered me get freaked out, walking in here and seeing you like that? It’s no big deal, Pirozhki. Do what you have to do.” Yuuri starts walking back to the door, but Yuri stops him with a quiet request.

“Don’t say anything to anyone. Not even Victor.”

Yuuri pauses, nodding without turning back towards Yuri. “I won’t. You know that.” And then, he is gone.

Yuri bites his lip, his erection still persistent. He exhales deeply, deciding to take Yuuri’s advice. He leaves his sweatshirt on the counter, locking himself in a toilet stall. Sitting on the closed lid, he pulls the waistband of his leggings down enough to slip his arousal out, already leaking and red.

The second Yuri wraps his fingers around the shaft, he feels a shudder rip through his body. He squeezes his eyes shut, moving his fist up and down his length. Shamelessly, he lets his mind drift back to what got him into this mess- Victor and Yuuri. It will be okay to think of them, just one more time. 

Maybe Yuuri knows about masturbating in ice rink bathrooms from experience. Maybe Victor likes to tease him, get him so worked up that he has to sneak off to relieve some sexual tension. Yuri bites back a moan, imagining Yuuri sneaking into the toilets with a rock-hard erection, palming himself through his leggings as he enters the stall.

Yuuri sits down on the closed lid, pulling out his throbbing cock and taking it into his waiting hand. He strokes himself needily, just as Yuri is now. Soft moans fall from his lips, his hips bucking up into his own touch. He probably thinks of Victor, imagining his boyfriend's hand wrapped around his shaft.

Yuri imagines that it’s Yuuri’s hand on his cock, slipping his free hand down and squeezing his balls- maybe that one is Victor’s hand. He imagines the two of them touching him, Yuuri looking at him through lidded eyes while Victor nuzzles into his thigh, hand rolling his balls gently. He imagines that the coiling in his gut is because of them, that they want Yuri to come, and that Yuuri would whisper,

“ _Come for us, Yuri_.”

Yuri moves his hand from his balls quickly enough to catch his own spillage. His body rocks and crumbles; Yuri is unable to stop the short gasps that puff from his parted lips. He milks himself dry, leaning back to catch his breath when he finally starts coming down. He grabs some toilet tissue to clean himself with before tucking himself away and washing his hands, splashing cold water on his face. He steels himself before emerging from the men’s room, ambling back down the hall.

Victor and Yuuri are resting on a bench as he enters the rink once more, near where his mat is set up. Upon seeing Yuri, Victor beckons him over with a concerned look on his face. Swallowing hard, Yuri’s eyes drift to Yuuri, his face heating. He knows that he _has_ to approach Victor, so he does, readying himself for some sort of creepy “birds and the bees” lecture.

It doesn’t come. Victor presses the back of his hand to Yuri’s forehead, lips pursed as he pulls it away. “You’re not warm. Yuuri said your stomach felt sick. Are you alright?”

Yuri lets out the breath he’s been holding in, nodding and shooting Yuuri a grateful glance. “Yeah, I uh, I felt a little nauseous. I had some water and cooled down; I’m fine now.”

The concerned look doesn’t leave Victor’s face as he nods, eyes still scanning over Yuri. He seems skeptical, but as he stands, he only offers a few words of advice; “Don’t push yourself too hard.”

Victor moves back to the ice entrance, leaving Yuri standing in front of Yuuri alone. “Thanks,” Yuri mumbles, kicking the floor with his good foot.

Yuuri stands with a smile, lifting his hand to ruffle Yuri’s hair. Yuri jerks away from the touch with a grumble, but it only makes Yuuri chuckle under his breath. Yuri blushes as he realizes what he had been imagining that hand doing _just five minutes ago_. He is glad that Yuuri walks back towards the ice without looking back, unable to see Yuri’s flushed cheeks. He hurries back down to the mat, stretching himself into a straddle. As he watches Yuuri join Victor on the ice, laughing and smiling with hands clasped tight, he feels a burning in his body. A burning not in his legs, not from his stretches. This burning is seeded deep, right in the center of his chest.


	9. Fissures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me~  
> Trust me, you'll want to save the hate for later on lololol.  
> <3  
> Your lovely comments so far have made me smile :)

His phone never rings this early- especially not on a Saturday. The sound isn’t his alarm, and it isn’t his general ringtone. It’s Victor’s, and as Yuri rolls over to stare at the screen, he sees that Victor has called twice already; he must have slept through the sound.

“Hello?” His voice is thick with sleep, and he clears his throat.

“Yura,” Victor sounds breathless, his voice shaking. “I need you to pack a small bag and meet me outside your apartment.”

“ _What_?” Yuri sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. “What are you talking about, old man?”

“Yuri,” Victor sighs heavily, and Yuri can hear Yuuri’s voice, muffled, in the background. The sound of a zipper being zipped. “Please, just do it. I really don’t want to talk about this over the phone.”

Yuri swallows hard, shaking his head though Victor can’t see the action. “Tell me now,” he whispers.

Victor sighs once more before giving in. “Your grandpa is in the hospital, Yura. He’s going to be okay, he went into cardiac arrest, but-”

Yuri’s throat closes, the phone falling from his hand and landing somewhere on the bed. _Dedushka_. He moves faster than he ever has, grabbing his duffel bag from under his bed and shoving clothes into it haphazardly. His phone charger, his wallet, his keys. He can hear Victor’s voice, a muffled static from within the bedsheets, but Yuri doesn’t stop moving. He is dressed with his teeth brushed in record time.

By the time Yuri is downstairs, duffel bag in hand and phone turned off in his pocket, Victor is power walking towards him from the corner. “Yura,” he calls out, “a taxi is coming. We’re going to take a plane to Moscow, okay?” When he reaches Yuri, warm arms wrap around him, holding him close. “He’s okay, Yura, I promise. They said he’s going to be fine.”

Yuri doesn’t pull from the embrace, but he doesn’t hug Victor back, either. “How do you even know-”

Victor sighs, nimble fingers running through Yuri’s golden locks. “You’re a minor, so he has me down as his emergency contact. You didn’t know?”

Yuri shakes his head, the lump in his throat rendering him wordless. They stand on the street together, Yuri limp in Victor’s arms. Yuri doesn’t allow himself to cry- but he does allow himself the comfort of Victor’s arms around him. In a moment of weakness, Yuri lets himself believe that Victor rushed here because he cares for the younger man, because he wants to support him- not out of obligation to his grandfather. Yuri clings to this hope as the cab pulls up, and Victor ushers him inside.

“It will be alright, Yuri.”

Yuri _hates_ hospitals. They smell like death and rubbing alcohol, they look clinical, they feel cold. Stepping into the lobby and up to the front desk is the hardest trek Yuri has taken in some time, and his voice sounds small as he whispers a name to the receptionist, “Nikolai Plisetsky.”

Victor keeps an arm around Yuri’s shoulder the entire walk down the hall, giving it a squeeze when they reach Dedushka’s room. Yuri stands outside the doorway, steeling himself to walk inside the room. “Go ahead,” Victor urges him gently. “Go have some time alone with him, I’ll come join you in a bit.”

Yuri nods mutely, sucking in a deep breath as he moves from under Victor’s touch. The air seems suddenly colder, his nerves suddenly shot. Yuri creeps into the dim room quietly, eyes widening as he sees his grandpa on the hospital bed. He looks pale and thinner than he was the last time Yuri saw him. He is hooked up to machines, a heart monitor beeping steadily by his bedside.

“Dedushka…”

Yuri’s voice is quiet, but Dedushka opens his eyes at the sound of it. “My Yurochka!” His voice sounds cheerful, but weak. He beckons Yuri forward, arms opening for an embrace.

Yuri swallows hard, tears burning in his eyes as he launches himself towards his grandpa. He hugs him loosely, burying his face in Dedushka’s neck as the old man holds him tightly. He lets his sorrow sting behind his eyes, refusing to cry. He breathes heavily against his grandpa, mumbling, “What happened?”

“Shh, Yura. I’m fine, don’t you worry.”

Anger boiling in Yuri’s veins, he pulls away from Dedushka to look him in the eyes. “You’re not _fine_ , Dedushka, you’re in the hospital! Why didn’t you tell me if you weren’t feeling well? I would have...I would have came home.”

“Yurochka, it’s my job to take care of you, not the other way around.”

Dedushka’s voice is so affectionate, so kind; Yuri can’t control his emotions any longer. As the tears pricking his eyes threaten release, Yuri turns on his heel and rushes from the room. He breathes heavily as he rushes past Victor in the hallway. He ignores Victor’s voice calling after him, following the signs for the restrooms and throwing the door open. As tears begin to fall freely, he curls up on the floor, folding into himself.

He lets the tears that have been haunting him since that morning wash over him, his body shaking at the sudden release. He wails into his kneecaps, making no effort to stifle the sound. His nose clogs, and he can hardly breathe. His throat is raw, sobs ripping him to shreds. He doesn’t hear the bathroom door open, but he feels the warm presence move next to him.

He doesn’t look up; he doesn’t need to. He is pulled into Victor’s arms, the strong smell of sandalwood and salt filling his nose. He clings to Victor’s T-shirt, wetting it with his tears as Victor attempts to soothe him. He is in pieces, but Victor’s arms are the glue keeping him from completely crumbling. Victor’s lips are warm on the top of Yuri’s head, his words soft in Yuri’s ear. His breathing is steady, his chest making Yuri’s head rise and fall with each breath. 

Yuri counts the beats of Victor’s heart, inhaling the smell of Victor’s cologne. He concentrates on the way that his lips feel against his scalp, the soothing tone of his voice, though it’s no more than radio static to Yuri. He relishes in how safe it feels to be in someone’s arms, to be held as if Victor might never let go.

But, the embrace has to end. When Yuri’s tears have subsided, Victor adjusts him in his lap so that they can make eye contact. Yuri’s viridans meet tired blues, a reassuring smile dancing on Victor’s lips. A warm hand brushes Yuri’s hair out of his face, and then reaches into a pocket to take out a tissue.

Yuri accepts the tissue, blowing his nose and wiping the stray tears from his face. “Sorry,” he mumbles. His cheeks heat, suddenly overwhelmingly embarrassed at his own childish behavior.

Victor only shakes his head, his arms tightening around Yuri once more. “It’s okay, Yura. I’m right here.”

 _He is_. Victor is here, after a plane ride from St. Petersburg. He left his boyfriend, his skating coach. He dropped everything to take Yuri to Moscow. He is here, on a filthy bathroom floor, embracing Yuri as if he is the only person in the world. His eyes are tired from lack of sleep, his hair a mess. But he doesn’t look at Yuri as if he’s a nuisance, or even with pity. He looks at Yuri as if he loves him, even if it’s not the way Yuri wishes that he did. Something swells deep inside of him, his chest suddenly feeling too small to contain his heart.

He can’t bring himself to put his feelings into words; he can’t even understand them, himself. Instead, he says the closest thing that he can to what he really means- “Thank you, Victor.” He can tell by Victor’s eyes that the older man can tell that he means so much more.


	10. Weakness or Strength

Yuri waits on a hard, plastic chair in the waiting room while Victor speaks with his grandpa. He can’t bear to go back in there yet- he can’t bring himself to see his grandfather lying in that hospital bed without risking another breakdown. So, Yuri waits, letting Victor be his proxy.

When the older man appears from down the hall and sits next to Yuri, he immediately puts his arm around his shoulders. “He’s feeling well, he said,” Victor assures him. When Yuri nods mutely, Victor squeezes his shoulder. “He can’t be on his own, anymore, Yura. And after having cardiac problems, he is going to need some special care.”

Yuri’s eyes widen, shifting towards Victor’s. “What does that mean?”

“It means he has elected to move into a facility here in Moscow, where they can properly care for him and make sure he stays in good health.”

Yuri swallows hard, his mind trying to wrap around Victor’s words. “H-he doesn’t have to do that, I’ll just come back home and I can ta-”

“Yuri,” Victor doesn’t continue until Yuri locks eyes with him, his expression resolute. “Your Dedushka made me promise not to let you do that.”

“But I have to-”

Victor shakes his head, lowering his voice even more. “He’s made up his mind, Yura. And he needs to be somewhere that they can monitor his heart. You aren’t qualified to do that.”

Yuri nods, the severity of Dedushka’s condition splintering under his skin. “Okay,” he whispers, steeling himself. He knows he will need to speak to his grandpa again before they leave for the night; he swallows down every trembling feeling that is urging him not to. “Okay,” he repeats. 

Yuri stands, shrugging away from Victor’s touch with determination. He motions down the hall, sucking in a breath. “I’m going to…”

Victor nods, offering one last smile before Yuri turns and makes his way back down the hallway. He lingers in Dedushka’s doorway for a moment before finally taking a single step into the room. He is met with his grandpa’s kind eyes, his gentle voice. “Come here, my Yurochka.”

Yuri feels the tears coming again, but he swallows them down with earnest. “Dedushka, I’m sorry that I-”

“Come here, Yura. Please.”

Yuri creeps across the floor, and into Dedushka’s open arms. His embrace is strong, and he presses Yuri’s head to his chest. “Dedu-”

“Shh, Yurochka. Let me speak, yes?” When Yuri nods against Dedushka, he continues. “I am going somewhere where they will take very good care of me, and you can come see me during the off-season. I love you so much, my boy. I want you to keep skating, you have such a talent for it.”

A few tears leak from the corners of Yuri’s eyes, but Yuri remains somewhat composed. “I don’t want to leave you, Dedushka. I should have came home sooner; I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Yurochka.” Dedushka presses a kiss to Yuri’s head, rubbing his back gently. “Vitya said he will take you to see me at the end of the season. He said that you’re welcome to stay with him and Yuuri if you like. Why don’t you let him take care of you, Yurochka, instead of always being so brave?”

Yuri pulls back from the embrace, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “I can take care of myself, Dedushka. I can take care of you, too, if you’d let me.”

Dedushka shakes his head, taking Yuri’s hand into his. He brings Yuri’s hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “I love you so much, my Yurochka.”

“I love you, Dedushka.”

“I want you to go and get Vitya now. He’s outside in the parking lot, and he has a surprise for you.”

Yuri can feel his face contort with confusion, and Dedushka smiles wide enough that it lights his eyes. “A surprise?”

“Go and see, Yura.”

After hugging and kissing his grandpa goodbye, Yuri follows his instructions, bypassing the waiting room to walk outside the hospital. Victor stands off to the side, a pet carrier on a nearby bench and Yuri’s darling cat in his arms.

“Potya!” Yuri breaks into a sprint, taking the cat from Victor’s arms as she is offered to him. “My Potya…” He buries his face in her soft fur, running his fingers through it. “Why do you have her here?”

Victor smiles at him when he looks up, eyes tired but twinkling. “Your Dedushka said that she would be living with the neighbor from now on, since your apartment lease doesn’t allow pets.” Victor pauses, reaching out and stroking the cat. His hand brushes against Yuri’s, warm and constant. “I thought you might like it better if she stayed with Yuuri and I, so that you could come and see her whenever you like.”

Yuri stares at Victor, mouth agape and eyes watering. He wills himself not to cry, hugging Potya closer to him. “Y-you don’t even like cats.”

Victor shrugs nonchalantly, still petting Potya gently. “I prefer dogs, it’s true. But I like _you_ , Yuri, and I want you to be able to see your cat.”

It’s difficult to find a pet-friendly hotel in Moscow, but Victor manages to. They get checked in and up to their room by eight o’clock, where Victor orders them room service and then dials Yuuri on his phone. Yuri lies on one of the hotel beds with Potya on his chest, stroking her fur languidly. He whispers to her as Victor talks to Yuuri, a muffled conversation that Yuri tries not to hear.

He is zoned out until he hears his name, spoken quietly as Victor holds out the phone to him. “Yuuri wants to talk to you.”

Yuri accepts the phone, pressing it to his ear and muttering, “you could have just texted me, you know.”

Yuuri chuckles on the other end of the line. “How are you holding up? It’s been a long day.”

Yuri shrugs, though Yuuri can’t see the motion. Victor conveniently excuses himself to the bathroom, giving Yuri some privacy as the door shuts behind him. “I’m fine. I’m tired.”

“Victor said that you wanted to fly back tomorrow. You know, Yakov would understand if you two stayed a while longer. Don’t push yourself away if you need to be with your grandpa right now.”

Yuri is elated by his consideration, but still won’t accept his blatant implication. “Yeah, yeah. I know that. I’m not coming back so soon for him.”

Yuuri is silent for a moment, before murmuring, “I hope it isn’t for Victor or I, either. You and Victor should stay in Moscow for as long as you need to, Yuri.”

Yuri forces himself to scoff. “It isn’t because of you idiots either, Katsudon.”

He can hear Yuuri’s breathy laugh on the other end of the line before the older man changes the subject. “What kind of food and litter does your cat prefer? I’ll get some things for her at the store tomorrow morning.”

Yuri rolls his eyes, his fingers scratching behind Potya’s ears. “My Potya isn’t particular.”

“That makes it easier.” There is a brief pause before Yuuri yawns. “I’ll let you go, then. I hope you sleep well.”

“Yeah, you too. Goodbye, Katsudon.”

Another breathy chuckle, and then, “Goodnight, Pirozhki.”

Yuri hates that he is smiling stupidly as he hangs up the phone. He hates that his chest feels tingly, from the concern that Yuuri has shown him, and the affection that Victor has offered him. He hates himself for allowing it to get this far, for becoming so weak to them. He feels exposed- like he did after the Final. Yuri sighs deeply, resolving to get back on track when they arrive home tomorrow. No more letting himself be _weak_.


	11. Shards of Glass

He had vowed to pull back once they got back to St. Petersburg, but Yuuri has dinner waiting for them. Yuri has to get Potya settled in her new home, and he is tired from the flight. So, he goes inside against his better judgement, holding his cat close to his chest. Victor and Yuuri embrace in the foyer, as if they have been away from each other for months. They share a long hug and a kiss, the sound of their lips departing making Yuri’s head spin.

As soon as Yuri lets Potya down onto the ground, he gasps as he is pulled into strong arms. Yuuri hugs him tightly, pressing Yuri’s face into his chest. Yuri tries his best not to melt into the touch, but rain water and mint fills his nose and he finds himself weak to it. The hug doesn’t last nearly as long as Victor and Yuuri’s did, but it is intimate enough that Yuri is blushing by the time he is let loose.

“I’m glad your grandpa is going to be okay, Yuri,” Yuuri whispers with sincerity, before following Victor into the kitchen.

Yuri relishes in some time alone, sprawling comfortably on the couch and watching as Potya meets Makkachin, the poodle sniffing her curiously. The two pets end up on Makkachin’s dog bed within minutes, both snoozing peacefully. Yuri can’t help but grin, taking out his phone to snap a picture.

By the end of dinner, Yuri finds himself teetering on the edge of sudden collapse. His illusion of Victor from the past two days has been shattered, cracked each time he kisses Yuuri’s cheek, or clasps onto his hand. Yuri boils as he watches the shameless affection, realizing that he will _never_ be on the same level as Yuuri when it comes to Victor. Sure, Victor may run him off to Moscow because his grandpa is ill, but this is where he belongs. Not holding Yuri on a filthy bathroom floor, but at home with his boyfriend, experiencing all the things Yuri longs for. Not just from Victor, but from the both of them.

They have each other; they don’t need him. He’s a child, a nuisance. A little brother to them, perhaps? Yuri stares at them in silence from across the table, realizing just how badly he’s fallen into the trap his emotions have set. The tingling in his chest when he smells them, the way he relaxes at the sound of their voices. _He jerked off thinking about them, twice_. There is a name for this feeling, but Yuri can’t place it; he doesn’t _want_ to place it.

Yuri stands suddenly, clearing his bowl and bringing it into the kitchen. When he returns, Victor and Yuuri have stood, as well, staring at him as he yanks on his sneakers and reaches for his duffel bag. “Thanks for dinner, Katsudon. And thanks for taking me to see Dedushka, Victor.”

“You can stay here, Yura,” Victor offers easily. “Yuuri already put fresh sheets on the guest bed, and Potya could sleep with you. Yuuri will make breakfast in the morning and we can all walk to pr-”

“No, I… I have to go home.” Yuri refuses to look at them as he clutches his bag. Determined, Yuri makes his way to the door in short strides, ignoring the voices of concern that sound as the door shuts behind him.

He nearly jogs home, ignoring his ankle. It’s nearly healed, anyway, and Yuri desperately wants to get to his apartment. He climbs the familiar steps to his floor, jamming his key into the lock and letting himself break as he walks over the threshold. The apartment feels cold and lonely, and Yuri doesn’t bother turning on the lights.

His bag is dropped at the doorway, forgotten, as Yuri allows himself to truly accept that he needs to pull away once more. He’d made a mistake, getting so close. He can’t let things stay the way they are- he will only end up getting hurt in the end. He can't make sense of the mess inside his head- the emotions pulling him in one direction and his need to feel safe pulling him in the opposite. He wants to cling to the dream that he can be near them without hurting, but the pain will always be there. He wants to cling to the reality of being alone, without them, but that hurts too. No matter what he chooses, there will be pain. He has broken himself down to the point of no repair; he sinks down into nothing.

Spotting a glass on the kitchen counter, Yuri takes it into his hand. He absorbs the cool feeling against his fingertips, letting pent-up tears leak down his cheeks. And then, he allows himself to feel the anger and the frustration that has no true root cause- it’s just his own delusions taking control. He never should have let himself get so close. He wishes they never moved here from Japan.

So, he slams the glass against the floor, determined to create something more cracked, more broken than himself. He has fallen into the habit of breaking himself before anyone got the chance to take a hit at him, and that pattern remains. He is an expert in embracing "l'appelle du vide"- his desire to self-sabotage before ever giving himself a chance overrides all else, and he decides for himself at that moment: he won't let himself be seen as weak to them, again. He leaves the glass broken on the floor as he goes to bed.

When Yuri wakes the next morning, there is no glass on the floor. _Was it all a dream?_

“You’re awake.”

His eyes move to the couch, where a very tired-looking Yuuri sits. He stands when they lock eyes, moving towards Yuri. 

“Get _out_ , Pig,” Yuri snarls, pointing towards the door. “I don’t want you here.”

Yuuri sighs, shaking his head. “Yuri, I don’t know why you got freaked out and left last night, but-”

“I wasn’t _freaked out_ , you idiot.”

“You’re not as good at hiding your feelings as you think you are.” Yuuri takes a step closer, and Yuri backs away. That _hurt_ expression paints Yuuri’s face, and he frowns. “Yuri, why are you so afraid to trust us?”

Yuri manages a scoff, a shake of his head. “Idiot. I’m not afraid of anything.”

Yuri isn’t sure how Yuuri gets across the room in such a quick, catlike manner, but the next thing Yuri knows, he is smothered by him. Yuuri holds him tightly, ignoring the younger man’s struggles to pull away. “Yuri, Yuri,” he whispers desperately, “please. Please don’t push me away.” Yuri feels moisture on his neck, and it isn’t coming from him. Yuuri’s shoulders shake, light sniffles sounding in Yuri’s ear. “Let us in.”

Yuri manages a weak, “I don’t need anyone.”

Yuuri laughs bitterly, pulling Yuri impossibly closer. “But Yuri, we need you.”

 _They don’t, they have each other_. He doesn’t have the courage to speak the words aloud. Instead, he mutters, “well, I don’t need the two of you.”

Yuuri pulls back from the embrace, keeping Yuri at arms length. His glasses are foggy and his cheeks damp, but he shows no sign of shame from crying in front of Yuri. “I don’t know what happened after the Final, or after we moved back. I don’t know why you’ve been trying to distance yourself from us since then. I just...If we did anything wrong, I’m sorry.”

The genuine look of concern in Yuuri’s eyes makes Yuri’s stomach turn. _They didn’t do anything wrong, that’s the problem_. Guilt taking over, Yuri sighs and shakes his head. “Idiot...You didn’t do anything wrong. Stop overthinking.”

Yuuri is still sporting that hurt expression, but he seems more at ease. “We’re not going to leave you. No matter how much you push us away, or how long you fight us for. We’re not going to abandon you, Yuri. I want you to know that.”

Yuri’s breath catches at the words, his lip trembling. He fights every instinct to pull away, instead burying his vulnerable expression in Yuuri’s shoulder so that he can't see it. He wants so badly to believe Yuuri. He wants to think that he can be around them without hurting, that he can trust them. He inhales rain, falls into mint, and shuts his eyes.


	12. Derpening Cracks

It doesn’t hurt quite as much as he had imagined. He practices his step sequence, watching Victor and Yuuri wind around the rink together. He looks on as Victor kisses Yuuri’s hand, gazes silently Yuuri lean into Victor’s touches. And it doesn’t hurt any more than usual; it hasn’t gotten any worse. Perhaps, it has gotten a bit _less_ painful.

Yuri doesn’t reject their touches as much as he used to. He sometimes allows himself to be pulled into an embrace, or keen quietly at a hand ruffling his hair. He visits his Potya a few times a week, staying for dinner on those nights. He tries to tell himself that he will never have what they have with each other, but that what he _does_ have is enough. Their _friendship_ should be enough. When Yuri calls Dedushka, he doesn't mention his inner turmoil. He needs to be strong, for his sake.

Each time he goes to see Potya, they offer for him to stay the night. He always declines, but does stay to watch a movie on rare occasions. They keep up this routine for a few weeks, until Yuri finds himself exhausted and aching on their couch one evening, groaning about his growing pains, assaulting him once more.

“It fucking _hurts_ ,” he moans, burying his face in a throw pillow.

Yuuri hums in agreement from the other side of the couch and Victor shouts from the kitchen, “you've certainly gotten taller, though! You're nearly Yuuri's height now.”

Yuri groans again, not much caring about his height. His body is changing; he is still thin and a bit fragile looking. But now, he is a bit more muscular and toned. His arms and legs are sculpted, and he looks _stronger_. He wishes he _felt_ stronger, too.

“I’m so _tired_ ,” he continues his complaints.

Yuuri murmurs, “the guest bed is always ready for you, Pirozhki.”

Yuri rolls over, so that he is looking up to the ceiling. “I haven’t slept with Potya in ages,” he reasons, blowing his hair out of his face.

“Then you should stay,” Yuuri mutters. 

When Yuri sits up fully, he sees Yuuri staring at him curiously, head cocked slightly. Yuri rolls his eyes, scoffing, “fine, then. Just this once. For my Potya.”

Yuuri grins, grabbing Yuri’s hands and pulling them both up from the couch. “Let me get you settled then!” Yuuri’s smile could melt the world.

It was supposed to be a one-time thing- Yuri had been tired, in pain, and wanting to cuddle with his cat. He tries to remind himself of this the next time he stays at Victor and Yuuri’s apartment, and the time after that. It becomes part of their ritual- the days he comes to see Potya, he not only has dinner and watches a movie, but he sleeps over, curled up in the guest room sheets with Potya.

They fall into yet another new routine, and Yuri starts to feel comfortable once more. It still burns inside his chest when he watches Victor kiss Yuuri, or Yuuri drape over Victor on the couch. He still feels guilty about the churning in his gut when he watches them together, the jealousy that lingers though he has opened up the slightest bit. Their new routine is still plagued by old habits, at least for Yuri.

Just when they seem to have a system down and Yuri can feel a bit of hope for normalcy in the future, a wrench gets thrown into their lives. And as it seems, it is usually a painful one.

It’s lunch time when Yuri ambles into the rink locker room, looking to rest for a bit before having to get back on the ice. When he opens the locker room door, he finds Yuuri standing in the corner, phone pressed to his ear. He is speaking quietly, in Japanese, pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses. Yuri freezes in place, watching Yuuri nod and lean against the wall of lockers.

The conversation doesn’t last long, but when it does end, Yuuri breaks. His hands pluck him glasses from his face, throwing them into his opened locker. Tears course down his cheeks, his face crumpling as he whimpers softly. Yuri’s heart rises into his throat, tears pricking in his own eyes at the sight of Yuuri in so much pain.

“K-katsudon?”

Yuuri glances up at him, his lip trembling as he readily holds out his arms. There he stands, tears streaming down in constant streams, soft gasps sounding as his chest heaves. “Yuri…”

Yuri moves into Yuuri’s arms without hesitation, squeezing the older man in return for the very first time. “Do you need me to find Victor?”

Yuuri sniffles with a shake of his head, burying his face in Yuuri’s shoulder. Tears soak his skin, and Yuuri’s hands grip Yuri’s back too tightly. Yuri only holds him tighter. “No, no,” Yuuri whispers, voice painfully broken. “I'm okay.” It's obvious that he's _not_.

“What happened?” Yuri finally gets the mind to whisper. The scent of rain and mint is intoxicating in his nose, he allows himself to nuzzle into it without feeling guilty.

Yuuri’s body trembles, a wet sob sounding near Yuri’s ear. “My dad is sick, t-they don’t know if he’s going to…” Yuuri’s voice trails off, drowning in quiet sobs.

“I’m sorry,” Yuri whispers, fisting the back of Yuuri’s shirt. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, unable to think of anything to say.

Yuuri gasps against Yuri’s neck, spreading a hot breath over damp skin. “I don’t want him to die,” he sobs.

Yuri remembers the exact moment he heard his Dedushka was in the hospital, when he didn’t know whether he would ever get to see his grandfather again. The crushing feeling in his chest, the numbness in his limbs. Yuri swallows hard, rubbing his hand over Yuuri’s back gently. His whisper is distant, broken; “It hurts, but you can get through it.”

Yuuri sniffles, pulling his face out of the crook of Yuri’s neck to meet his eyes. His chocolate eyes are swollen at the rims, bloodshot and wet as fresh tears stream down his puffy face. “W-what?”

Yuri takes a deep breath in, letting it out in a rush with his words. “T-that’s what I always tell myself, when something is painful.”

Yuuri nods, tears wetting his face as it crumples again. “Thank you, Yuri. For telling me that.”

It is at that moment that Victor shows up, and Yuri tries to pull from Yuuri’s arms as Victor approaches them. Yuuri only clings to him tighter, and Yuri ends up returning the embrace once more. Victor doesn’t speak at first, electing to wrap his arms around both the smaller men. When he does speak, it’s soft and soothing in Yuri’s ears.

“My Yuuri, my Yura. What could be so bad?”

Yuuri loses himself completely, clinging to the back of Yuri's shirt with his hands as he turns his face into Victor's chest. He mumbles incoherently as he sobs, body shaking and jostling Yuri. Victor's arms tighten around them both.

“Shh, shh. We don't have to talk about it right now, then. We're here, love. Yura and I are right here.”

The room is filled with nothing but heavy breathing and Yuuri's gasps, barely muffled against Victor's chest. Victor's hand runs along Yuri's back as he alternates kissing them both on the head. It's so warm, so safe. Yuri lets Yuuri cling to him, allows Victor take care of him as well as Yuuri. As he breathes in, he realizes that he is drowning in the mixed scents of their colognes, a medley of rain and sandalwood, mint and salt. It smells familiar, like pirozhki cooking. It smells like something Yuri could drown himself in.

“Thank you, Yura,” Victor whispers in Russian, nearly inaudible. “Thank you for taking care of our Yuuri.”

Yuri's breath hitches; he had called Yuuri _theirs_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you're thinking "this is what Lemons meant when she said to save the hate because it'll be warranted later".
> 
> Not quite.
> 
> So close.
> 
> Patience, lol.
> 
> I love Yuuri and I hate to torment him but I promise you I'm going somewhere with this, so trust me for a bit longer.


	13. Emptiness

He doesn’t want to go to their apartment with them- he feels out of place, like they should be alone together. But Victor insists he join them. Yuuri doesn’t voice his opinion, but he clings to Yuri and nuzzles into his chest, crying quietly. So, Yuri goes home with them, though he feels as if he is encroaching on Yuuri’s healing.

They’re going to go to Japan, of course. When they arrive at the apartment, Victor gets Yuuri set up in their en-suite bathroom for a hot bath, and then joins Yuri in the kitchen. Yuri is making tea, Yuuri’s favorite kind. Victor smiles when he finds him, tea kettle in hand and three mugs on the counter.

“You really _do_ care for him,” Victor comments easily.

“Shut up, old man.”

The bite he goes for just isn’t there as he places the kettle onto the stove. When he turns back to Victor, he finds himself crowded by the older man, nearly trapped between him and the counter. Victor sighs quietly, placing both hands on Yuri’s shoulders and massaging them gently, rocking Yuri’s body as he does. “Listen, I don’t want to take Makkachin along for the trip. I don’t think it’s appropriate, given the circumstances. I wanted to ask if you could stay here while we’re gone, take care of her and Potya.”

Yuri opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Are they that close now, that Victor would have him house and pet sit for him, while they are away? Yuri nods solemnly, finally finding his voice. “Yeah.”

Victor moves his hands down Yuri’s arms, finally letting them slip around his waist, enveloping him in a warm embrace. “Thank you, Yura.”

Yuri lets himself enjoy the hug; the warmth of Victor’s skin, the beating of Victor’s heart against his own chest. He relishes in their second embrace of the day, convincing himself that it’s okay to be this close- just today. It ends too soon, Victor pulling away and placing a small key in Yuri’s hand and then manually closing his fingers around it. Victor moves from the kitchen, then, pausing where it meets the living room. “Yura, when we get back, I want you to keep the key.”

It takes Yuri a good thirty seconds after Victor leaves the room to realize what he means.

It’s strange to be in Victor and Yuuri’s apartment without them there. He’d been in the apartment alone when it was Victor’s on numerous occasions, but this was _different_. Even with the couple gone, their ghosts linger within the walls. Though the apartment is quiet, Yuri can still feel their presence, a warm feeling that he never feels when he's alone in his own apartment. With Makkachin and Potya, too, it doesn't feel as empty.

When Victor calls a day after their departure, Yuri is expecting to hear good news- they had texted him when they'd landed in Japan, letting him know that they got their safe. This call is for an update, and Yuri hopes to hear nothing but how Yuuri’s father is going to be fine, and that Victor and Yuuri would be home soon.

“Yura,” Victor breathes, sounding tired.

“Vitya,” Yuri responds, clinging to the three breathes Victor takes before speaking.

“He passed away last night, just a few hours after we got here.”

Yuri's heart drops, a harsh tingling in his chest that he can't quite explain. He swallows hard, asking, “did...did you get to see him?”

“Yes, Yura, he, uhm… Yuuri spent every second with him and… he passed peacefully, in his sleep.”

Yuri wills himself to speak, but all that comes up is a grunt. He tries again, managing, “is Yuuri going to be okay?” _It's the first time he's calling Yuuri by his name; it tastes foreign on his tongue_. 

Victor sighs, lowering his voice. “He will, Yura. He has us to rely on, hmm?” It isn't a real question; Yuri doesn't respond. “Will you talk to him?” Victor asks.

“Y-yeah,” Yuri agrees, nerves wracking as he hears shuffling on the other end of the line.

“Hi, Pirozhki,” Yuuri whispers in a worn-down tone.

“Hey, Katsudon.” Yuri swallows hard, willing himself to stop the tears in his eyes from falling. “I'm sorry.”

“Thank you… I’m glad that… I got to see him, at least.”

“I'm sorry,” Yuri repeats, close to breaking.

“We're going to be staying here longer than we anticipated,” Yuuri changes the subject abruptly, his voice curt and almost business-like. “Will you be alright on your own?”

Yuri manages a laugh, and it's almost genuine. “Of course I will. I've always been on my own, before you two annoyances came along.” Quieter, he adds, “you don't need to worry about me.”

Yuuri laughs breathily, tone creeping back into exhausted. “Too bad; you can't stop us.”

Yuri groans, shaking his head at no one. “Yeah, yeah. Worry, then.”

“Thank you for talking with me, Yuri,” the older man murmurs. “We'll keep you updated, yeah?”

“Yeah… I… I'm really sorry… Yuuri.” Again, the name is foreign, though identical to his own. Yuri doesn't miss the sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, the one that Yuuri expels at the sound of his proper name.

“Thank you.” There is muffled talking, and then, “Victor says to give Makka a hug and a kiss for him. Do the same for me, too, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Bye, Katsudon.”

“Bye, Pirozhki.”

When the phone is hung up and tossed aside, Yuri whistles for Makkachin. He gets no response, eventually rising to see where the poodle is. She's not in the living room or kitchen, the hallway or the guest room. Yuri ends up in front of Victor and Yuuri's door, now set ajar, when it had been closed upon their departure.

“Makka?” He whispers, nudging the door open completely with his foot.

The poodle is on their bed, pouting in Yuri's direction. The young man sighs, stepping across the floor quietly. He knows he shouldn't, but he lies down on their bed with Makkachin, convincing himself that he's only doing as Yuuri requested. He wraps his arms around the poodle and kisses her fur twice, enticing a slobbery lick to land on Yuri's cheek.

“Ew,” he grumbles, ducking down and pressing his face into the sheets to keep it out of the dog's reach. The bed is unmade, the older couple having left in a rush, and Yuri presses his face directly into the scent of Victor. He inhales deeper, realizing this must be Victor's side of the bed.

Yuri inches more towards the middle, running one hand over Makkachin’s fur and the other over their soft sheet, inhaling once more. In the middle of the bed, he can breathe in the smell of both Yuuri and Victor, rain water and mint, sandalwood and salt. The thought crosses Yuri's mind, just the sliver of a fantasy- wouldn't it be nice if Victor and Yuuri were here with him? Wouldn't it be nice to be able to crawl onto their bed and breathe them in, feel their warmth?

Yuri sits up suddenly, breathing heavy as he pushes himself from the bed. No, he can't let himself think like that. He can't entertain fantasies that will never come true. _Victor and Yuuri have each other, they only need each other_. 

“They will never need me like that,” Yuri whispers aloud. He feels tears prickling in his eyes when Makkachin barks in agreement. He waits until he is in the guest room to let the tears fall; he doesn't want to desecrate their bedroom with his unwarranted sorrows. Yuri decides, on their guest room bed, Potya curled against his side, that it will _never_ stop hurting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, now you can hate me. But I promise, this is the saddest part so you can rest assured knowing you've reached the worst that is to come.


	14. First Kiss (It's Not What He Imagines)

Yuri finds it hard to concentrate the entire week during practice. Whether it be because of his internal turmoil, or because he keeps scanning the rink to see where Victor and Yuuri should be skating, he can’t control the feeling. He fumbles during his entire routine, causing Yakov to shout at him and Mila to shoot him sympathetic glances from across the ice. By the time they take a break for lunch, Yuri feels like hitting something.

He doesn’t get the chance to, however, as he and Mila sit down on the benches and pull off their skates. Yuri’s phone rings, and he doesn’t need to look at the caller I.D. to know that it’s one of two people. “Da?” He answers, holding the phone between his shoulder and ear as he tosses his skates to the floor.

“Yura, how is practice going?” Victor asks, his voice seemingly normal, given the circumstances.

“It’s fine,” Yuri lowers his voice, as if it will keep Mila from hearing him. “How is… How is he doing?”

Victor sighs, and Yuri can visualize him running his fingers through his hair, tapping his foot on the ground restlessly. “He’s really… He’s upset, Yuri.”

“I know,” Yuri whispers, “but he’ll…”

“Of course he will be okay,” Victor assures him, easing the pang of worry inside Yuri’s chest, if only the slightest bit. “We miss you, Yuri.”

Yuri’s heart stops for a split second, a hiccup-like jump inside his chest that makes him feel like he needs to cough, or clear his throat. “I… I have to go,” Yuri manages to spit out, the words he truly wants to repeat stuck somewhere inside him, unable to leave his mouth. 

Victor sighs, deep and disappointed. “You can fall, Yuri. I promise that we’ll catch you.”

Yuri doesn’t know how Victor means the words, and he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t bother saying goodbye as he hangs up the phone, placing it on the bench before standing suddenly. Mila calls after him, asking if he’s alright, but he ignores her. Yuri doesn’t bother slipping on his sneakers; he walks down the hallway in nothing but his socks, ending up in the locker room.

He sinks down onto the floor, steadying his breathing. He stares at the wall of lockers, counting to five in his head over and over, until his chest doesn’t feel so tight. _You can fall, Yuri. I promise that we’ll catch you_. Yuri brings his fist to the floor, convincing himself that they _won’t_. He _knows_ that they won’t. They _can’t_ ; Victor hadn’t meant it like that. They see him as a child, a little brother, maybe. It isn’t something Yuri wants to fall into, and he’s already fallen too hard into something else for his own good. When Yuri can finally breathe again, and he gets the will to stand up, Mila is pushing open the locker room door.

She stands a foot in front of him, expression soft and eyes somber. He is taller now, and he realizes that he may even be taller than her, by a few centimeters. “If you love them, you should tell them,” she whispers.

Yuri swallows hard, panic rising in his chest once again. “I don’t _love_ them,” he manages, his voice shaking. 

Mila keeps her eyes locked with his, not backing down. “Keeping it inside won’t make it go away- it will all come out eventually, and then-”

“I _don’t_ love them. I’m not even…” The words stick in Yuri’s throat, and he wishes so desperately that he wasn’t lying through his teeth already. As his heart cracks and splinters inside him, he suddenly feels the need to make it apparent. He wants it to be true, even to himself. In a split-second decision, he pushes forward, pressing his lips against Mila’s.

She tastes like cherry cola and chapstick, her lips warm and welcoming against his. Still, it doesn’t feel even half as nice as Victor’s lips feel against his scalp, or Yuuri’s hands feel rubbing his back. Her lips feel like any other bit of flesh against his, and when he pulls back, he expects her to yell, or slap him. Instead, she smiles sadly, placing her hand on Yuri’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

“Sorry, sweetie. I’m not attracted to the opposite sex.” She pauses, her hand moving from Yuri’s shoulder and leaving it cold, barren. “And it’s alright if you aren’t, either. Talk to them.”

She turns to leave, and Yuri whispers, hoping it’s too quiet for her to hear, “I can’t.”

It’s not as inaudible as he intends. She spins on her heel, and Yuri is wrapped in her arms before he can do anything more than grunt in surprise. Her hand cradles his head, resting it on her bosom. He has to lean down to wrap his arms around her, the positioning awkward after his most recent growth spurt. She clings to him until he does the same, allowing himself to take comfort in her.

“Listen to me… They will never abandon you, Yuri. They will never hate you. You won’t lose anything by telling them… But you have the chance of gaining something.”

Yuri can’t speak, so he moves his face into the crook of Mila’s neck, inhaling a strong, flowery scent that is nothing like Victor or Yuuri. He chokes back tears, shaking his head against her skin.

“It’ll be okay, Yura. It will.”

Yuri desperately tries to believe her, hands gripping the back of her shirt like a lifeline as she rubs his back soothingly, murmuring quiet encouragements. He finally gets it together enough to pull back, though Mila still clings to his wrists, keeping him at an arm's length. Realizing he isn’t going to get out of this without speaking, he musters up the courage to tell her, 

“They don’t need me, they have each other.”

Mila smiles softly, brushing a lock of Yuri’s hair back from his eyes. “You’re so oblivious, it's almost painful.” As her hands drop his wrists and she saunters towards the door, Yuri has to strain to catch her final words. “If they didn’t need you, why would they have moved here after the Final instead of staying in Japan? You know damn well Victor wouldn’t uproot Yuuri just for Yakov’s coaching.”

Yuri’s mind is swirling through his afternoon practice, a whirlwind of possibilities. He flubs more jumps than he lands, hitting the ice to the sound of Yakov’s scolding a record number of times. He doesn’t care, though. Not today. Today, he wants to cling to a glimmer of hope. He _wants_ to believe that Mila is right. What could he lose by opening up? He is already hurting, by staying complacent.

On the way to Victor and Yuuri’s apartment that afternoon, Yuri calls his grandfather as he stops at the grocery store. He buys the ingredients for both pirozhki and katsudon, carrying the bags back with him in the chilly evening air. He memorizes the recipe his grandpa tells him, repeating it in his head. Victor and Yuuri will be back in two days; he needs to perfect his katsudon pirozhki making skills, so he can have them come home to a good meal.


	15. A Warm Welcome

The first thing Victor succeeds in doing upon arriving home is causing Yuri to burn his hand. It isn’t intentional, or course, and it’s half Yuri’s own fault. He has the music blasting as he cooks, and he doesn’t hear the front door open, or Makkachin’s nails clicking across the floor to greet her owner. The only warning Yuri gets before he jumps in surprise, his hand twitching and landing on the inside wall of the oven, is Victor’s voice behind his ear.

“Dinner smells delicious, Yura.”

“Ah-” Searing pain hits him, and he jerks his hand away from the hot surface. “ _Fuck_ , my han-”

Victor has his wrist grasped before Yuri can finish his sentence, pulling him over to the kitchen sink. He turns on the cold water, shoving Yuri’s hand underneath the cool stream and making him hiss with pain. Victor wraps his free arm around Yuri from behind, hugging him. He presses a kiss to Yuri’s temple, his hand rubbing Yuri’s chest.

“I’m sorry, Yura,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to frighten you that badly.”

Yuri nods, still in a state of shock, as footsteps sound behind them, the music apparently having been lowered during all the commotion. “What happened? Are you alright, Yuri?” he asks, slipping next to Victor and taking Yuri’s wrist into his own hand. He purses his lips at the sight of the burn, humming quietly. “We’re home for ten seconds and you’ve already managed to burn him?” Yuuri accuses, stepping away from the two Russians. “I’ll get the burn cream and a bandage.”

As Victor finally releases him, shutting off the faucet in the process, Yuri calls after Yuuri, “I’m fine, it doesn’t even hurt!”

Victor is already bending down to remove the cooked katsudon pirozhki from the oven, setting the tray of them on the counter. “We missed you,” Victor says easily, leaning back against the island as Yuuri comes back with a small tube and a bandage.

“Come here,” Yuuri motions Yuri over to a kitchen stool, patting the seat for Yuri to sit down. When he does, Yuuri takes Yuri’s hand into his, looking over the tiny burn on the top of his hand. “So,” he begins as he applies cream to the burn, “did you have a good week?”

Yuri swallows hard as the reality of the situation sets in- they are home. They are home, after Yuuri’s dad’s death, his funeral- probably the worst week of Yuuri’s life. And Yuuri is placing a bandage on his hand, tending to Yuri- instead of Yuri comforting _him_ , as it should be. Yuuri keeps hold of his hand, even after the bandage is stuck on, staring at the younger man with expectant eyes. Yuri finally manages a nod, flipping his hand up so that his palm is facing Yuuri’s, tightening his fingers around Yuuri’s hand awkwardly. It isn’t really holding hands, it’s more Yuri gripping Yuuri’s hand from the awkward positioning and squeezing his fingers.

The words are on the tip of Yuri’s tongue- _I missed you, I’m glad you’re home, I want to give you a hug and kiss hello_. It’s all he wants to say, the feelings he is dying to release. All that falls from his lips, however, is “I made katsudon pirozhki.”

Yuuri smiles gently, squeezing Yuri’s hand in return. “I know, it smells amazing. Thank you for cooking, Yuri.”

It only takes a few minutes into their dinner for Victor to exclaim, “these are the best pirozhki I have ever had!”

Yuuri giggles, nodding with agreement. “He’s right, Pirozhki. I guess you live up to your name, too.”

Yuri’s chest feel warm and tight, as if his heart might swell out enough to break his ribs. He can’t help a smile as he looks from Victor to Yuuri, realizing how much warmer the apartment feels with them back. How much lighter he feels, even if the burden of unrequited love weighs heavily on his shoulders. He realizes, then, that he would rather have them as he does now then not to have them at all.

“Thanks, Katusdon,” he murmurs, cheeks flushing the slightest bit.

Victor and Yuri are putting the dishes into the dishwasher when Yuuri asks quietly, “you’ll stay tonight, won’t you, Pirozhki?”

Yuri caught off guard, pausing with a dish in his hand long enough that Victor takes it from him, placing it into the dishwasher for him. “I mean… If you two want to be alone to do gross stuff then I-”

Yuuri bursts into laughter, followed by Victor. The Japanese man surges forward, wrapping his arms around Yuri, who struggles to break free from his grasp. “We want you to stay, Yuri,” He whispers. “We missed your grumpy little face while we were away.”

“Get off me, jerk,” Yuri spits out, less intimidating than he means it. 

“Shh,” Yuuri murmurs, his breath so close to Yuri’s ear that it makes him shiver. “Victor got to hug you, why can’t I?”

Yuri can’t help the laugh he expels, snickering. “He burnt the shit out of my hand.”

Victor pouts, abandoning the dishwasher to tousle Yuri’s hair. “I didn’t _mean to_ ,” he mutters.

“I know,” Yuri mumbles, trying to jerk away from Victor, only succeeding in falling deeper into Yuuri’s strong arms. “Oh, come _on_ ,” he groans, admitting defeat and burying his face in Yuuri’s shirt. “You two are ganging up on me.”

He feels Victor move on the other side of him, effectively locking Yuri between their bodies. “You caught us,” he admits readily, spurts of hot breath hitting Yuri’s scalp as he laughs.

“Stupid old men…” Yuri mutters, smothered by their heat. Still, he can’t help but keen quietly as Victor tightens his hold, nearly crushing Yuri between them. He covers the sound up with a grunt, making Yuuri chuckle.

“First you burned him and now you’re crushing him, Vitya.”

Victor hums quietly, the sounds vibrating on Yuri’s scalp as his lips brush his head. “He’s okay,” Victor assures Yuuri.

Yuri is intoxicated by their bodies pressed against his, cocooning him in the most comforting embrace he’s ever felt. It’s too much- his heart starts to pound as he realizes just how hard he’s fallen for them, words he had buried deep inside inching up his throat like word vomit, swallowed hard as he finally finds the strength to untangle himself from their arms. “Stop,” he whispers, his voice serious enough that they let go.

“Yuri?”

His eyes are burning, his entire body numb and freezing. Their touches linger on every inch of his being. Butterflies swirl around in his chest, a gunshot going off again and again. He panics as Yuuri reaches out to him, slow and careful. Shaking his head, he backs away and stumbles down the hall, frantically locking himself in the guest room. He collapses to the floor, head between his knees as he tries to draw in a breath.

There is no knock on the door, but Yuuri’s voice sounds as if he is kneeling on the floor at Yuri’s level, so close to where Yuri sits with his back against the door. “We overwhelmed you; I’m sorry.”

Yuri doesn’t answer, banging his fist against the wooden floor as he fights back tears. He won’t cry- not over this. He has to get over it, he has to become immune to their touches. He needs to adapt.

“Yuri,’’

“ _What_ ,” he snaps hoarsely.

“Potya is out here with me; she wants to come in.”

Yuri bites his lip, grunting. He listens carefully, hearing the telltale purring of his cat and a shuffling in the hall. “Fine,” he mutters, standing on shaky legs and opening the door. 

Yuuri stands in front of him, holding Potya and rubbing her behind the ears. Yuri takes the cat from him, kissing her head before placing her down on the floor. She weaves herself through Yuri’s legs, purring, before jumping onto the bed and curling up. Yuuri stares at him in silence, waiting.

“Sorry for freaking out,” Yuri finally mumbles.

Yuuri shakes his head, leaning his head against the doorframe. “We were being selfish.”

“Selfish?”

Yuuri nods, smiling softly. “We missed you and we wanted to show you, but we didn’t think about whether _you_ wanted to be held like that. We’re sorry, Yuri.”

Yuri’s heart stops, his veins burning with something he can’t understand. Yuuri is hurting, yet he still feels the need to apologize when Yuri rejects him and Victor. Yuri should be the one apologizing; he should have let Yuuri cling to him until he wasted away, after the week he had in Japan. Guilt swirling inside him, Yuri shakes his head. “Idiot,” he mutters. He wraps his arms loosely around Yuuri’s waist, relaxing as the Japanese man hugs him back. His head resting on Yuuri’s shoulder, Yuri whispers in Russian for Yuuri not to understand, “I missed you.”


	16. Home

It's that time of year when it grows dark at five o'clock, and for some reason, it makes Yuri want to cry. As he walks to his apartment in the dim light, he can’t help the foggy memories that plague his mind, haunting him like a ghost in the chilly air. He stares up at the indigo sky, kicking the sidewalk as he arrives at his apartment building, taking the no longer familiar trek up the stairs.

_That entire week, she walked him home from practice. The weather had just begun changing, and each evening they would walk hand in hand in the brisk air. Yuri would look up at the fading sky, smiling as he babbled about his skating practice. His mother would smile and squeeze his hand, ask him questions._

_Each evening, she would tell him that she loved him as they climbed the steps to their apartment. He would repeat the phrase, sitting at the living room window and watching the sky grow dark as his mother cooked dinner. That was the first and only week that she walked him home from practice. The next week, Yuri was at his Dedushka’s, and his mother was gone._

Yuri's phone rings as he settles onto the couch, Victor's number popping up. “Da?”

“Yura, you didn't come home after practice,” Victor accuses him.

Yuri rolls his eyes, leaning back on the couch cushions. “I am home, you idiot.”

Victor sighs dramatically. “Your home with _us_ , Yura, not that closet you pay rent for every month but never stay at anymore.”

Yuri bites his lip, scoffing. “What do you care where I sleep, old man?”

Yuri hears shuffling on the other side of the line, then the sound of a door shutting. “Is this about yesterday?” Victor's voice is low, strained. “Are you… avoiding us?”

Yuri groans, letting his forehead rest in his hand. “Is a man not entitled to a night alone at his own apartment?”

Victor is silent for a moment before letting out an enlightened, “oh! _Oh_... You need to be _alone_.”

Yuri groans, kicking the coffee table with his foot. “Not that, you fucking pervert!”

Victor hums thoughtfully. “Hmm, I guess you're right. You must have been doing it here, anyway. I mean, what teenage boy could go more than a couple days without-”

“ _Shut up_!” Yuri's face flames, remembering each time he touched himself in their guest room bed, imagining what they might be doing to each other on the other side of the wall. “You're so gross!”

Victor chuckles once more before his tone goes serious. “Yuri, really. If you need something from us, you need to tell us how you feel. We aren't mind readers.”

Yuri sighs, running his tongue over his lips. There is so much he needs from them, but he can never have it. The words catch in his throat, and he swallows them back down. Instead, he tells a half-truth. “I got overwhelmed yesterday.”

“Da, Yuuri said that. I'm sorry if we were too forward.”

Taking a deep breath, Yuri admits, “you weren't.”

Victor sighs. “Can you tell me why you're at your apartment, then?”

 _Because I'm afraid of getting even closer to you. Because it hurts to be so close but not to get what I need. Because I'm trying to convince myself that there might still be a chance that I can pull away_. Yuri swallows hard. “I thought you might want a night to yourselves for once.”

“Yura,” Victor purrs, “we aren't teenagers, but we can't exactly hold back forever, either.” As Yuri groans in mock disgust, Victor chuckles. “You don't need to leave so we can do that.”

“Gross,” Yuri barks.

“Yura.”

“Vitya.”

“Come home; we want to watch a movie with you.”

Against his better judgement, Yuri finds himself putting his shoes back on.

Victor sits in the middle of the couch, with Yuuri to his right and Yuri on his left. A bowl of popcorn sits on the coffee table, Makkachin on the floor at their feet. Blankets are draped over them, Potya curled in a ball on Yuri's lap. They settle in, watching a movie that Yuuri had brought from home with English subtitles. The subtitles aren't as easy to follow as ones in his native tongue, but Yuri manages to follow along.

Sometime into the film, Yuri feels a warmth around his shoulder. He glances up, seeing that Victor has an arm around both he and Yuuri. As minutes pass, Victor pulls him closer, and soon enough, both he and Yuuri are resting their heads on Victor's shoulders. Yuri sighs, trying his best to focus on the film and not the sandalwood and salt filling his nose. Yuri hears the sound of a kiss to his right, and then feels warmth on his head and the same sound. Flushing, he realizes that Victor has kissed both of their heads. 

“Vitya, is Yuri sleeping?”

Yuri grumbles, shifting to get more comfortable and accidentally disturbing Potya, who jumps to the floor and saunters away. “I'm awake.”

“You like the movie?”

Yuri hasn't been completely following the plot, but he still hums quietly. “Yeah.”

“This was my favorite movie growing up,” Yuuri murmurs. “I'm glad you like it, Pirozhki.”

“I'm glad you came home,” Victor cuts in. “It wasn't angsty enough without you here.”

Yuuri giggles, and Yuri rolls his eyes. “Why do you keep saying that?”

Victor's hand tousles Yuri's hair languidly as he answers, “saying what?”

Yuri resists sinking into the comforting touch, grumbling, “that this is my home. You keep sayi-”

“You kept the key, didn’t you?” Victor waits a few beats of silence, Yuri’s tongue twisting inside his mouth. “You stay here every night. Your cat is here, and… It feels like home to us, when you’re here.”

Yuri swallows hard, tensing. “Don’t-”

Victor shakes his head, moving his arm from around Yuuri and instead wrapping both arms around Yuri’s frame. He is smothered by the older man, his face pressed into his chest deep enough that Victor’s heartbeat is loud in his ears. “Stop pushing us away,” he whispers, voice firm.

“Vitya, leave him be, you’re going to upset hi-”

“It’s fine.” Yuri’s own voice catches him by surprise, sounding unsteady and muffled from Victor’s shirt. He accepts his fate, realizing that it is, in fact, too late to pull back. _It’s okay, to have them like this. Take what you can get_. “It’s fine,” he repeats, pulling back so that Victor has him at an arm’s length.

“Yura?” Victor blinks in surprise as Yuuri wraps his arms around Victor, effectively resting his hand on Yuri’s shoulder. He pulls Yuri over Victor, so that he rests between them.

Yuri knows his smile is a little cracked and maybe even a little broken, but it’s a smile that he keeps hidden away, reserved for only a select few people. So he stretches his lips, letting himself be laid out in front of non-judgemental eyes, and he allows himself to melt to the embrace he has been longing for, but unwilling to fully accept. He breathes in the smell of rain water and mint, sandalwood and salt, and immerses himself in _home_.


	17. Regression

It becomes routine- Yuri’s apartment becomes a barren, distant memory. Each day after practice, they take turns cooking dinner. They watch movies- action, comedy, even romance. Some nights, Yuri falls asleep on the couch and is woken by Yuuri’s gentle touch, to be led sleepily to his room. _His_ room; that’s what they call it. “Yuri, is Potya in your room?”, “Do you need me to wash the sheets for your bed?”, “Is your room warm enough, or should we turn the heat up?”

The twisting inside of Yuri’s gut when he sees their casual affection with each other becomes less of a sharp pain and more of a dull ache; he can adapt. He allows himself the solace of melting into their touches, though he wishes they were meant as more. He takes what he can get, knowing that he can trust them enough to feel at ease.

_“You aren’t like this for him, you are like this for yourself!”_

_“What do you know? He shouldn’t be around me! That won’t do him any good, either!”_

_Yuri peeked through where his door is cracked open, watching his mother and grandfather flail their arms, their discussion growing quiet once more for a moment until his grandfather exploded,_

_“You aren’t here when he is crying in my arms, asking where his mother is! You don’t have to see the damage you’re doing to him!”_

_“Has has you; he doesn’t need to be around me when I do nothing but hurt him.”_

_His mother was already out the door when Yuri’s grandpa slammed his fist down onto the counter, tears leaking from his eyes. “You bitch…”_

_“Mama…”_

Yuri sits up as soon as he eye shoot open, body shaking as he backs into the couch cushions. He pants, trying to catch his breath as Yuuri tosses the book he is reading aside, immediately opening his arms and motioning Yuri inside of them. “It’s okay, come here.”

Blindly, Yuri obeys, sinking into Yuuri’s warmth. Gentle lips press to temple, hands rubbing his back. “Were you having a nightmare?”

Yuri nods, shivering in the embrace. “I… Sorry, I’m fine. I just...woke up suddenly and…” His voice trails off, excuses hanging on his tongue but refusing to slip from his mouth.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Yuuri whispers, his breath hot on Yuri’s scalp. Yuri only shrugs in response- he is unsure, himself. “You were mumbling something about your mom,” Yuuri prompts quietly.

Yuri stiffens, his chest contracting, his gut twisting. “I…” He can feel his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. 

“I have nightmares about my dad, sometimes,” Yuuri admits. “It’s okay.”

Yuri shakes his head, sighing quietly. “She’s not… She uh, she left. On her own accord,” he explains frantically, the words raw and bitter in his mouth. “When I was five.” Yuri wills himself to stop talking, snapping his mouth shut and shifting in Yuuri’s embrace.

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to grieve her,” Yuuri murmurs, tightening his arms around Yuri. “Do you want to come sleep in our room tonight?”

Yuri stiffens, his heart beginning to set off like a firecracker. “ _What_?” he hisses.

Yuuri chuckles, rocking Yuri like a child until he relaxes, if only the slightest bit. “The bed is huge, there’s plenty of room for you, and that way if you have a bad dream… We’re right there.”

“Y-you creepy old men are just trying to get me into your bed,” Yuri mumbles, though his words never seem to carry the bite that they used to.

Yuuri laughs, nuzzling his nose into Yuri's hair. “It's getting long,” he murmurs.

“What, my hair?” It's true, Yuri's hair now hangs comfortably just below the shoulders.

“Mhm,” Yuuri hums, still rocking their bodies in sync. “Really, you can come sleep with us. Victor won't mind.”

Yuri shakes his head vigorously, imagining lying in bed with them, Yuuri stroking his hair until he falls asleep and Victor whispering to him in Russian, quiet folklore that his grandfather used to tell him at night. Biting his lip, Yuri grits, “I can't.”

“Why, Pirozhki?”

Yuri is quiet for a moment, million reasons latent on his tongue. He listens to Yuuri's breathing, realizing that they are breathing in sync with each other. He focuses on that, on something solid and predictable, as he shakes his head. “I just can't,” is the only answer he can come up with.

Yuuri doesn't press further, resting his chin on Yuri's shoulder with a soft sigh. “Okay, well just know that if you change your mind… our door is always open.” Yuri stays in Yuuri's arms for a long while after that.

Yuuri doesn't mention Yuri joining them in their room for the rest of the week. Things go back to how they were- Yuri occasionally falling asleep on the couch, Yuuri leading him to his bed in a sleepy haze. The other nights, Yuri finds it hard to fall asleep at all. Yuuri and Victor don't stifle their open touches- kisses to the top of Yuri's head, a comforting hand on Yuri's back, a gentle hug. Yuri is once more caught in the in-between of too much and not enough, struggling to decide which direction to let himself be pulled.

Mila effectively corners him one day during practice, conveniently when he wasn't able to sleep much the night before. “You look like shit,” she tells him.

“Da, thanks, you fucking hag,” he snaps, slamming his locker door closed.

“Seriously,” she whispers, leaning her head against the row of lockers. “Are you okay?”

Yuri groans, glaring at her. “I'm fine, I didn't sleep well and I'm _tired_.”

“You look like you've been tired more often than not this week,” she shoots back accusingly.

“I just can't fucking sleep, oka-”

“You should really talk to them-”

“Talk to who?” The locker room door shuts behind Victor, who has his hand clasped in Yuuri's. His eyes widen as he sees both Yuri and Mila’s tense postures, the light blush rising on Yuri's cheeks. 

“Victor, I think we shou-”

“... Leave them alone.” Victor finishes, nodding. “I think Yuri might be fighting with his girlfriend,” he teases, pulling Yuuri towards the door.

“He’s not,” Mila smirks, propelling herself off the lockers and causing Victor to cease their departure. “I don't swing that way anymore,” Mila announces, moving towards the door. On her way to it, she turns back, index and middle fingers spread into a “v”. She licks at the air between them with a wink before sauntering out the door.

Yuuri’s cheeks are bright red, his eyes wide behind his blue frames. “Are you alright, Pirozhki?” Yuuri manages, his concern overcoming his embarrassment.

Yuri nods, kneeling down and tying his sneakers. “I’m tired,” he sighs as he stands, a loud exhale that Victor raises his eyebrows at.

Victor purses his lips, his fingers falling under Yuri's chin and tilting his head up. Victor's free hand brushes the hair out of Yuri's face, making room for his lips to press against Yuri's forehead. Yuri is frozen as Victor's lips linger for what seems like hours, finally pulling back with a soft “smooching” noise. He stares down at Yuri, gaze not faltering.

“You don't feel warm, but you look a little flushed.”

Yuri's heart pounds in his ears, his face growing even redder. “Y-you could have just used the back of your hand!” He fumes, jerking his chin out of Victor's light grasp. “Creepy old man,” Yuri mumbles.

“I'll make you tea when we get home,” Yuuri offers as they head out of the rink. “Camomile; it will help you sleep.”

“And who said that I can't sleep, Katsudon?”

Yuuri shrugs, ushering Yuuri out the door. “The bags under your eyes for the past week are a pretty good sign.” When Yuri remains silent, Yuuri continues. “I'll make you tea and Victor will run you a bath in our en-suite so you can soak after dinner.”

Yuri grumbles, “I don't need a bath, Katsudon. I'm not a child.”

Yuuri only shrugs, picking up the pace as they walk. “I love baths. I've even got these nice bath bombs that smell nice and make the water all fizzy,” Yuuri entices him with a grin.

Yuri hates to admit it, but that _does_ sound nice.


	18. Sinking

The tea tastes nice and the bath is relaxing, but neither help Yuri to sleep. He goes to bed early, skipping their usual after dinner film for a bath in their en-suite and then cuddling on his bed with Potya. He shuts his eyes, counts sheep, and pets his cat. He checks his social media, picks at a loose thread on his comforter, and stares at the ceiling. He lies on his back, his side, and his stomach. No matter what he does, he cannot sleep.

Finding himself thirsty after an hour or two of sulking, Yuri creeps from his room, slipping down the hall. He figures that Victor and Yuuri have gone to bed, themselves, until he reaches the end of the hallway. Yuri freezes, breath catching as he watches the scene in front of him. His mouth suddenly feels even drier than before.

Victor has Yuuri backed up against the living room wall, hands pinned on either side of his head. Their bodies are connected at the mouth and flush against each other from the torso down. Their lips move over one another's noisily, making a wet sound that causes Yuri's ears to throb and his heart to sink into his gut. When Victor's lips move lower, teasing at Yuuri's neck, the Japanese man speaks.

“Vitya, we shouldn't be-ah-we shouldn't be doing this out here. What if-”

“Shh,” Victor commands, rocking his hips forward in a way that makes Yuuri moan quietly, trying to stifle the sound by catching his lower lip between his teeth. “He went to sleep hours ago.”

Yuri feels all the blood inside him settling in two places- his face and his cock. He finally manages to unroot his legs from the ground, taking a step backwards that is meant to be quiet. Unfortunately, Potya chooses that exact moment to come darting down the hall from Yuri's room, bounding down the hall in a noisy clamor. Yuri gasps as Victor and Yuuri look up at the commotion, both locking eyes with the younger Russian.

Yuri shakes his head, frantically pulling at the hem of his shirt to hide his obvious erection. He steps backwards again and stammers, “I’m s-sorry! I wanted to get a glass of water, I… I didn't see anything… Sorry.”

Yuri spins on his heel and darts down the hallway, barrelling into his room and slamming the door shut behind him. His boner is already shrinking from a mixture of fear and humiliation, and Yuri jumps onto the bed, lying on his stomach. He pulls the blankets over his head, trying to regulate his breathing with his face smushed into his pillow. He fights the urge to scream.

It's not five minutes later that a knock sounds at his door, a creak notifying him of the door being opened without waiting for a response. Quiet footsteps pad across the room, a soft sigh sounding near Yuri's ear as glass thuds onto his nightstand.

“I brought you a glass of water,” Yuuri whispers, the bed dipping as he sits down.

“I'm sorry,” Yuri mumbles, refusing to move from his cocooned stance.

Yuuri brings a hand to Yuri's back through the blanket, rubbing small circles. “You shouldn't be the one apologizing. We're sorry, Yuri. We shouldn't have… been doing that out there. I told him it wasn't a good idea, but… you know how stubborn he can be.”

“I'm sorry,” Yuri repeats, forlorn. He relaxes further as Yuuri continues the gentle motion with his hand, humming softly.

“Can you tell me what you keep apologizing for?”

Yuri swallows, a million thoughts racing through his mind. He has so many things he feels the need to apologize for, yet he can't admit a single one. Instead, he grunts quietly, focusing on nothing more than Yuuri's tender touch.

“I saw,” Yuuri whispers suddenly, almost inaudible. “It's okay… It's nothing to be ashamed of or feel weird about.”

It takes a moment to click in Yuri's head, what the older man is referring to. His face burns with shame, and he buries it deeper into his pillow. _He's figured it out; he knows_. “I'm sorry,” Yuri whimpers, strangled.

Yuuri seems to sense the desperation in his voice. The next thing Yuri knows, there is a warmth veiling him, the heat of a gentle voice in his ear through the blanket. “Yuri, it's okay. You can't help how your body reacts to something like that. It's okay, we know it seems embarrassing, but it's nothing we haven't been through.”

 _He doesn't suspect the real reason, he just thinks it's hormones_. Yuri laughs shakily, rolling onto his side but still keeping his head under the blankets. “Thanks for the water,” he mutters.

“Have some,” Yuuri murmurs, removing his body from Yuri's. The bed shifts as he reaches over to get the water. Yuri finally exposes his face, sitting up and taking the glass from Yuuri. The older man watches as Yuri takes a sip, placing the glass back on the nightstand after. “Better?” Yuuri asks him.

“Yeah,” Yuri agrees.

Yuuri sighs, reaching out to tuck a lock of Yuri's hair behind his ear. “I guess you still couldn't sleep, even after the tea and the bath?”

Yuri shakes his head, shrugging. “I haven't been sleeping well lately.”

“Have you been having nightmares?”

Yuri shakes his head. “No, I just can't fall asleep.”

Yuuri sighs, patting Yuri's thigh. “Usually that means something is on your mind.”

Yuri shrugs, the weight of his emotions crashing down on him yet again. He does have something on this mind- two things. Victor and Yuuri, and his feelings for each of them. They set inside him like a stone, sinking him further and further down until it feels like he might drown.

“You always fall asleep well on the couch,” Yuuri continues. “When it's just the TV or me reading.” When Yuri still holds his tongue, Yuuri smiles at him. “I'm going to grab one of my books and read in here for a while. We'll see if you can't fall asleep, hmm?”

Before Yuri can open his mouth to protest, Yuuri is out the door. When he returns, book in hand, Yuri grumbles, “you don't have to do this.”

Yuuri shrugs, lying down on the bed next to Yuri, propped up on pillows like he hasn't a care in the world. “You can't sleep if you keep talking,” he points out, opening his book.

Yuuri's close proximity both relaxes and excites Yuri; his body is torn between the two. He can just barely feel the heat of Yuuri's body from where he lies, the only sound in the room being the older man's breathing the the occasional turn of a page. Yuri faces away from him, eyes shut and arms clinging to the blankets like a vice.

Yuri doesn't know how long they stay like that, how much time passes. His thoughts grow more and more wreckless, his heavy arms loosening their grip on the blankets. He grows warmer and warmer, his entire being sinking and the rhythmic sound of Yuuri's breathing lulling him in and out of consciousness.

Yuri is unable to react as Yuuri's book closes, his warmth moving to cover the entire back of Yuri's body through the blankets. Yuuri's breath is steady near Yuri's ear, fingers carding through his hair. Safety and warmth course through Yuri's veins, and he almost wishes he was awake enough to shift deeper into Yuuri's touches. 

There is the creaking of a door, quiet footfalls, and an even quieter voice. “Is he sleeping?”

Yuuri shifts, though he doesn't stray far from where he is wrapped around Yuri's frame. “Yeah, I think so. He hasn't shoved me off him yet,” he chuckles.

A second hand strokes Yuri's hair, warmth landing on his temple. Victor's lips linger there before moving to hover over Yuri's skin, whispering in Russian, “goodnight, Yurochka. We love you.”

It is then that Yuri realizes; he must be dreaming.


	19. Unrequited Love

A weight lies heavy in Yuri’s chest, an ache he can’t explain. The words from Victor’s lips still tingle against his skin, whether real or imagined. He thinks of them often, half of him hoping that they weren’t just a dream. The other half tugs him in the opposite direction, knowing that if the words were true, they weren’t meant in the same way that Yuri longs to return them.

He skates with a renewed fervor each day, pouring his heart into each movement he makes. When Lilia comes to watch him, she tells him that she can see something new in his skating- something that looks like love. Mila smirks, shooting Yuri a knowing glance as Lilia moves on to assess the next skater. Days bleed into weeks, and Yuri’s tolerable complacency bleeds into gnawing dissatisfaction.

Yuri finds himself on the couch late at night, no longer falling asleep with Yuuri reading or Victor watching TV. He goes to bed after their movie, but he doesn’t sleep. He waits until he hears their bedroom door close before creeping back down the hall and allowing himself time alone with his thoughts and a cup of chamomile tea.

He fights with himself nightly- his head and heart having a civil war over what he needs to do. His heart wants to stay, to love them in any way he possibly can. His head wants to lead him away- to keep his heart from suffering through unrequited love and watching something unfold in front of him that he can never have, himself.

It takes a few weeks into this new ritual for Yuuri to find him one night, the TV on silent and the light illuminating the room. The Japanese man settles next to Yuri on the couch. “Can’t sleep?”

Yuri shakes his head, placing his mug of half-drunk tea on the coffee table. “What about you?”

Yuuri sighs, shaking his head. “I can’t sleep either.” He leans his elbow on the back of the couch, resting his head on his hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Yuri runs his tongue over his lips, thinking carefully. So much has built up inside of him, and it’s been eating away at him. There is so much he needs to say, but he knows that putting it out in the open won’t change anything. Getting his feelings out will only make him suffer more in the long run, from their kindness and pity. Such is the pain of unrequited love.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says shortly, “I think I want to start staying at my apartment again sometimes. I need some space.”

The hurt expression that Yuri hasn’t seen in quite some time creeps up onto Yuuri’s face, his mouth setting in a firm line and eyes opening up wider. “Yuri,” he whispers, “please don’t push us away again.”

 _He has to, his head has won. It’s the only choice he has_. “I’m not,” he argues, too emotionally exhausted to come up with an excuse.

“You _are_ , Yuri.”

“Whatever,” Yuri mutters, shifting and standing up from the couch. “I’m going back to bed.”

He is stopped by a sudden movement behind him, a tugging on his sleeve, and a quiet “please”.

Yuri makes the mistake of turning around, finding Yuuri standing, his shaking hand grasping at Yuri’s sleeve. His eyes look wet, face close to breaking, his lip is trembling. “Please,” he repeats shaikly, “please stay.”

Yuri’s heart races, loud enough to bring his pulse into his ears. His palms feel sweaty and his breath quickens. The word vomit crawls up his throat again, and this time, he is helpless to stop it. “I can’t; It _hurts_. It fucking hurts.”

Yuuri reaches out with his free hand, effectively grasping both of Yuri’s wrists in his warm palms. Yuri tries not to think about how comforting the gesture is, or how he wants nothing more than to give in to Yuuri’s gentle touches as he always seems to. “Talk to me, tell me why it hurts. I’m here, it’s-”

“That’s the problem!” Yuri snaps, watching as Yuuri’s eyes widen at his sudden tone. He feels his own lip beginning to tremble, and he fights to control the emotions ready to leak from his eyes. “I can’t-” he inhales sharply, shaking his head. “It hurts to be here, Yuuri.”

Frantic, Yuuri tugs at Yuri’s wrists. His tears begin to paint his face, two tiny streams falling from dark caramel eyes. “Tell me why it hurts! You can tell me!” He is unraveling, urgent, begging Yuri to open up. He looks as if he may fall apart any second, and Yuri can’t imagine why he means enough to make the older man cry.

“ _Because I fucking love you both in a way that you will never love me, ok_ -”

His eyes remain wide open as Yuuri closes the gap between them, effectively silencing him with warmth lips. It is nothing like his lips felt on Mila’s, this is beyond compare. Every inch of his skin ignites, and he becomes lost in the moment. The ache in his chest dissipates, heat flowing through his being. The fireworks in his chest outweigh the shock, and he nearly falls backwards as Yuuri’s lips leave his, abandoning them in a cold wasteland.

“W-why would you…” Yuri tries to pull away, but Yuuri only grabs his wrists tighter. “Victor is going to… I didn’t… He’s going to hate me! Why would you kiss me! He’s going to find out and blame me and then...” Yuri hisses, voice tapering off as the gravity of the situation opens his eyes to what Yuuri just did. 

“He won’t hate you, no one hates you. It's going to be okay,” Yuuri whispers, dangerously calm. “I promise.”

“Are you _insane_? Do you even reali-”

“Yuri,” Yuuri’s voice is breathy but controlled, his thumbs moving small, rhythmic circles on Yuri’s wrists. “Calm down, okay? Just breathe. I promise that everything is okay, you just need to trust me for right now.”

Yuri shakes his head, unable to accept that. “Why did you kiss me?”

Yuuri shakes his head, moving his hands up Yuri’s arms until he is able to pull the younger man into an embrace. His breath hot in Yuri’s ear, he whispers, “we need to talk, the three of us. I will explain.” Yuri immediately tries to yank himself from the hug, heart pounding. Before he can open his mouth to protest, Yuuri clings to him even tighter. “Don’t. Don’t run, don’t be afraid. Trust me, Yuri, and I promise that everything will be okay from now on.”

“I can’t,” Yuri whimpers, hiding his face in Yuuri’s chest. “I can’t talk to you, I can’t do this. I’ve fucked everything up already.”

“You haven’t fucked anything up, Yuri,” Yuuri whispers gently. “Let’s go talk with Vitya, and then everything will be okay.”

“It won’t,” Yuri argues.

“When we came home, you told me that you missed us, didn’t you?”

Yuri’s face burns, as if the admission of missing Victor and Yuuri is more embarrassing than the fact that he just declared his love for them. “I didn’t-”

“Victor had been teaching me a lot of Russian that week, to get my mind off things. When you hugged me, you said, ‘I missed you’.”

Yuri falters, wondering why Yuuri would choose now of all times to admit that he had understood. “What does this have to do with anything?”

Yuuri smiles, taking Yuri’s hand into his in a firm grasp. “It doesn’t; I just wanted to tell you, that we missed you just as much. And if we’re apart again, we’ll miss you even more. So please, come and talk with us.”

Yuri, despite his fears, allows himself to be led by the hand to their bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me for the cliffhanger~


	20. Freedom

Victor is awake in their bed; he stirs when they enter the room. Yuri feels nausea creeping up inside him as Victor smiles softly, patting the bed for them to sit down without so much as questioning why Yuri is being led to their bedroom. Yuri is shaking as he sits down on the bed at Victor’s side, with Yuuri behind him. Yuuri notices, immediately beginning to rub small circles on Yuri’s back.

“Is everything alright, Yuuri?” Victor finally asks Yuuri, though his eyes remained locked with the younger Russian’s.

Yuuri hums, moving his hands up to Yuri’s tense shoulders and massaging them gently. “Everything is just fine, Vitya.”

Victor’s mouth opens, then snaps shut again. He reaches out to Yuri, taking one of his hands into his own. “Why are you shaking, Yura?”

Yuri shakes his head, trying to pull away from both men at the same time as his skin ignites. “I can’t-”

“ _Yuri_ ,” Yuuri’s arms slip under Yuri’s, effectively pulling the younger man into an embrace from behind. Yuuri’s hands cross over Yuri’s chest, right over his pounding heart. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Victor’s hand squeezes Yuri’s, his eyes flickering with concern. “What happened? It’s okay, Yura, we’re here. You don’t have to be afrai-”

“I’m not afraid of anything,” Yuri mumbles weakly, out of habit.

Victor chuckles, nodding. “Of course not.”

“Vitya,” Yuuri whispers evenly. “Yuri says that he loves us…” Yuri’s heart stops beating and he crawls out of his own body. _No, don’t tell him_. “...and he thinks we don’t love him in the same way.”

“Hmm,” Victor hums, eyes still steady on Yuri’s glossy ones. “Well why would he think a thing like that? Of course we love him.”

His chest caves when he takes a breath, his ribs crumbling around the fragility of his emotions. Tears pricking in his eyes are finally set free, on display for them to see. How could they do this to him? How could they be so calm, when Yuri is breaking? “I’m sorry,” Yuri whispers, not knowing what else to say. “He’s not… he’s not telling you… what I…”

“I kissed him, Vitya.”

Victor’s expression doesn’t change a bit, and Yuri dies a little inside. Panic courses through him as Victor and Yuuri exchange a look with each other, before Victor’s thumb swipes over Yuri’s wet cheeks. “Don’t cry, Yura. You don’t need to cry.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want him to do it-”

“So you don’t love us in that way, Yura? You don’t want us to kiss you?” Victor’s hand trembles around Yuri’s, his eyes growing wet. 

Fresh tears course down Yuri’s cheeks, and he breaks. “Why are you doing this? Why are you both messing with me? You don’t have to pity me, you can just tell me to fuck off already!”

“Yura, no,” Victor moves his hands down Yuri’s body, from his cheeks, down his neck, over his shoulders, until they reach his waist. Yuri is pulled into Victor’s strong arms, Victor’s breathing unsteady and frantic. “We’re not messing with you, we’re not pitying you. We just want to make sure that we understand.” Victor brushes back Yuri’s hair, his glassy eyes seemingly searching for something inside of Yuri’s face. “Yura, I want to kiss you. May I?”

Yuri finds himself nodding despite himself, his cheeks feeling wet again as Victor closes his eyes and leans in, pressing their lips together. Yuri instinctively shuts his eyes, as well, this time prepared for the intimate contact. Victor’s lips are warm and smooth, touching Yuri’s as if it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to do. When Victor pulls away, he is breathless, chest heaving and eyes wetter than before.

“I-I don’t understand,” Yuri whimpers. “Why… when you have each other… why are you doing this? Why aren’t you telling me to get lost?”

Yuuri chuckles behind him, moving to enclose Yuri between their bodies. “We thought we were being fairly obvious with our intent… Yuri, we just didn’t want to overstep our boundaries if that… if that wasn’t how you felt about us, too.”

“All this time… you…”

“Yes, Yura…” Victor cards his fingers through Yuri’s hair, pressing a kiss to the younger man’s forehead. “This is why you were so cold to us, when we came back? This is why you didn’t want to get too close to us?”

Yuri nods, cheeks flushing. 

“It’s okay, now,” Yuuri assures him. “Everything’s okay.”

Victor nods in agreement. “We don’t have to talk about everything tonight, Yura. We don’t want to overwhelm you.”

Yuri nods slowly, tears pricking in his eyes once more. He fights them, lips trembling, as he nods again. “I’m sorry, for all the trouble.”

Yuri gasps as both sets of arms tighten around him, Yuuri kissing his cheek and Victor kissing his hair. “You don’t need to apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for,” Yuuri murmurs.

Victor hums in agreement, sighing deeply. “We're sorry that we weren't more forward…”

“We just didn't… if you didn't feel the same, we didn't want to lose you completely,” Yuuri adds in a whispered tone.

“Idiots,” Yuri barks, clinging to any body part he can reach. “That's exactly why I didn't say anything to you, either.”

“Oh, Yuri…” Yuuri nuzzles against Yuri’s neck from behind, the tickle of his breath making Yuri shiver. “We’re sorry, if we caused you any pain.”

Yuri sighs, sinking deeper into their embrace. “I’m sorry, if I did the same to you.”

Yuuri shifts them so that Yuri is lying in the middle of the bed before settling next to him, and tugging Victor down to do the same. They enclose Yuri in a cocoon between them, Victor spooning him from behind and Yuuri holding him from the front. “Sleep, Yura,” Victor whispers. “We’ll be right here when you wake up.”

For the first time in a long time, Yuri allows himself to truly trust in something- in someone. Two someones, who didn’t give up on him for a single second. As he sinks into their embrace, he doesn’t worry about the talk they will have tomorrow. He doesn’t worry about a single thing. They love him, and the desperate way they hold him is proof.

 _When you are continuously hurt, you build up a resistance to that pain. Walls that surround you, enclosing you from those that may cause you distress. You know you have built up those defenses for a reason, yet somewhere deep inside yourself, you long for them to be broken. There is a sliver of hope that some day, someone will smash into those walls, rip at them with their bare hands until they come crumbling down. And you know that if they do, it will not be to hurt you. No one goes through that much effort for a cheap thrill. Anyone who will take the time to tear down those walls would do it out of love and sincerity. They will enclose you within themselves, instead, and you will never need those walls again. The hurt will be forgotten, the pain a distant fragment of your memory. And finally, you will be free_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're at the final chapter...  
> I've started writing a sequel to this work, but I'm not sure when I'll be able to begin posting it~  
> I'm kind of going through severe mental collapse coupled with being extremely overworked~  
> Thanks for sticking around for the ride. I hope you enjoyed this work and you'll keep an eye out for the next one.
> 
> Sincerely,   
> Lemons~


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